OLD-WORLD EXTRA

Chapter 318: I Am Human

Chapter 318: I Am Human

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The further I walked, the less populated my surroundings grew to be.

As if it were a ghost town, none dared show their ugly mug, afraid that the gangs might come by and demand things of them-things that they couldn't do.

But I honestly couldn't care any less; the thought of meeting them didn't scare me, nothing did for the exception of facing my family again.

Minutes went by, and I reached the landfill, a deep one, dug many meters down.

On the surface where I stood were many rotting dead bodies, most likely used as a warning sign for those who wished to try their luck, basically me.

Showing them no heed, I dragged a few bodies as I stepped forward, reaching the edge of the slope, then without any hesitation and with all my strength, I pulled on their disgusting legs, throwing them in.

They slid down, reaching the trash in a few seconds.

Thud!

My eyes remained locked on their bodies as I waited. Yet even after a minute went by, no sound was heard.

It appeared that no one was there, not down nor up, and the gang wasn't watching.

The Wheel's blessing remained!

Excited, I slid down, but as I neared the bottom, I slipped and fell face-first into the trash.

Or not.

Thankfully however, my mouth was closed, so I only suffocated because of the smell, or I almost did at least, as I managed to push myself up and spit out the horrid taste.

Quietly, I began to move about the dump and looked for discarded relics.

Right, that was my objective for coming here. After all, if this place housed food, it would've long since rotted or come close to being so.

Yet it wasn't going to be easy.

The relics discarded here were either utterly useless or defective, not even worth a few UC. The transaction cost of trading them was often higher than the relic's value itself, or maybe the owners couldn't find a buyer, so they just threw their trash out.

This scenario typically unfolded with companies dealing with corporations; they purchased relics in bulk, but sometimes the market demand dwindled, leaving them with surplus relics that they needed to dispose of rather than letting them clutter their warehouses.

But there was another option that many didn't know about.

The third type of relic here was counterfeit, forged to look similar to that of relics in demand -a rare find but a good one as that would sell for good credit. It was an almost guaranteed outcome; after all, not everyone had access to a Relic Appraiser.

It was a rarity because most of the still-usable machines for this profession were snuffed out, as were the experts themselves. The UEF cracked down hard on all fronts, and we've never seen their men patrol the slums so extensively before. Those times were tough since nobody wanted to involve themselves in the chaos, but it wasn't all bad; at least the streets were safe. Anyways... I was banking on finding a counterfeit; even a shit one would be fine.

Down here, not many knew how to differentiate a true relic from a fake one; as long as the logo was on the packaging, they would believe it and buy it.

So I went ahead. Searched, waddled through the garbage, my entire body aching, my stomach rumbling, eating itself from the inside, yet I didn't stop.

I dug out the black bags, threw them away, and dove in, searching, but still, nothing. They were rare, and it seemed that my luck had run out.

No matter what I did or how long I searched, I found nothing.

The thought of giving up crossed my mind, but that was it, it only crossed it, never staying.

Eventually however, I had to leave, not only due to my dying body but also because I heard footsteps in the distance.

While hungry for death, I wasn't planning on leaving before I could kill my guilt, my shame. It would haunt my soul.

And as I escaped, a plan formed in my mind a plan that seemed impossible yet that wasn't about to stop me.

Finding a ditch nearby, I hid in some corner and relaxed my back against a cold wall, my bottom freezing from the rough ground.

Sleep washed over me, and the next day arrived.

I repeated the cycle of yesterday.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, but I didn't give up.

In fact, a few homeless saw my actions and joined me. I was surprised, almost scared, at first,

but I grew used to it. Besides, they didn't last long-some died, while others simply gave up, saying that it was hopeless, thinking the gangs had already taken everything.

Such a scenario seemed to be true; maybe their security was lax because there wasn't anything valuable in there.

I didn't know, or so I deluded myself.

And so, even though I subconsciously knew it to be futile, I still went to the landfill every day.

When it was time for dinner, I would eat what the gangs left behind every day-the scrap of their scrap.

The food tasted rotten, as did the water, contaminated to oblivion, but I ate; I was too hungry to be picky.

Sometimes it would smell so bad that vomit would escape my mouth, coloring the ground.

It wouldn't stay on the ground for long however, though disgusting, I had to swallow back the half-digested food.

Unfortunately, this cycle wasn't going to last forever, and there came a day where the gang themselves left no scraps behind.

There wasn't much I could do but wait for the next day, search for the relic, and pray-pray

that they would find something.

They didn't.

The next day arrived.

Nothing.

Desperate, I rushed to them as they arrived and begged them for food. My mind couldn't handle it anymore, my body was so weak that moving felt as if I was going against the

strongest of currents.

Smack!

Ugh...

How beautiful.

My eyes saw red, and my tongue tasted blood.

It was a colorful color, one that I hadn't seen in so long, and the taste... was different, it felt

like a treat.

Hm.

Was this death?

"...Wa..."

"...Wake..."

"Up..."

"Wa...ke... up!"

"Wake up!"

I was shaken awake by hands that seemed no bigger than four of my fingers.

Looking to my side, I saw the angel welcoming me to heaven.

It was... no, that couldn't be.

Was my child killed as well?

My family.

Were they alright?

I couldn't ask him; I didn't dare ask him.

Although he looked older, I knew him to be my son, I—

Suddenly, disrupting my inner turmoil, he took my hand and placed it on his cheek, making

me caress him in the same spot where I had slapped him when I left.

And then, he spoke, his words terrifying, shaking me to my core:

"I'm sorry."

He apologized to me.

The one who had failed him, his brother, his sister, and especially his mother.

He apologized to me, a father who deserved nothing but death.

Yet he didn't stop there, he continued:

"And you are forgifen."

Hah...

Hahaha...

Chuckles couldn't help but escape my dry lips.

I looked up, and there she was-my wife-the one who must've told my boy what to say.

Alongside her were my other children, who looked to be in a much greater shape than I was.

Tears left me at that sight.

Even though they were doing better without me, they still wanted me to be with them.

"I..."

Oh, how scary was love? How painful?

No matter the human-rich, poor, strong, weak, talented, average, trash, or disabled-they

all experience pain in one form or another.

Some more, some less, yet it still remained true.

To be human was to suffer. To suffer was to be alive.

To be alive was to choose who would make you feel pain.

Whether it'd be one person alone or everyone that you met. Regardless of intention, people hurt others, both enemies and lovers.

To feel pain was to be human. And humans weren't perfect.

But despite that, I stopped running away. I accepted.

I wished to remain, hurt and get hurt by those I call family.

Those that I loved and those who loved me.

Their words, their complaints, their weak little hands, and their pointy teeth.

It only felt like a show of their love.

I wasn't always sure; the way they acted hurt a lot. Many times I thought that their love for me

had disappeared, wondering if the day they saw me half dead was the trigger.

It was gradual; things got worse, and we lost hope, causing fights to happen more often.

As time went by the pain they inflicted upon me grew to be not something one would inflict

on another human but on an animal...

And yet, it turned out I was wrong.

My kids jumped before a hunter's bullets, dying only a few moments before me.

That was when I knew...

I was still human.

They loved me, and I loved them.

At least, I died knowing that.

Poor, deprived of rights, not a shred of dignity remaining, ridiculous acts of starvation-none

of that mattered.

I died knowing that-

"I'm human."

Fluttering my eyes open, I looked up through the purple 'fog' and declared to Mr. Player:

"I'm not just a pawn. Not just a creation, a weapon, a celestial, a prince of some clan."

With a serene smile, I stood up from my lotus position and put my right hand over my second

heart.

"No, before all of that..."

I bowed.

"I am human."