#010. Sector 49 (2)
The dawn sunlight was pricking Ray’s eyelids.
“……”
The cold from the night had seeped into his whole body.
The campfire outside the window had long been extinguished by the night wind.
His bones ached.
The blows from the golem had left cracks that hadn’t yet healed.
It wasn’t bad enough to prevent movement.
This level of damage would naturally mend itself over time.
Ray climbed onto a pile of scrap metal, finished his meal, and flung the empty can far away.
Nothing was visible at the edge of the horizon yet.
After eating, he promptly got into the vehicle, started the engine, and set off.
Every second felt precious.
He had to cover as much distance as possible before the sun rose high in the sky.
**Vroom─**
He drove on and on.
The once-pristine white body of his vehicle gradually became dirtied with windblown dust and pebbles.
He alternated between driving and resting.
As he drove, the sky changed its hues, as if trying to draw the boy’s attention.
From cloudy gray.
To sunset-stained crimson.
And then to a pitch-black night where stars held their breath.
But the boy paid no attention, fixated solely on his destination.
After two more days of this relentless journey, the buildings of Sector 49 began to emerge on the horizon.
*
*
*
Before he knew it, the sky had darkened.
Ray finally reached the outskirts of Sector 49.
*”Sector 46? The place I was born? It’s a dump, just like here.”*
That’s what Niles had once said.
He had claimed there was little difference between Sectors 46 and 50.
If that were true, the areas between them were likely fall into the same category.
Dark, dismal places where all manner of malice flowed like stagnant sewage.
It looked that way at first glance too.
Not far off, decrepit, damp concrete buildings came into view.
*”The only difference is that it’s bigger than here. The buildings are taller, and the streets go up to higher numbers.”*
The rule that higher numbers meant more bustling sectors also applied to the lower sectors.
Buildings stretched widely across Ray’s field of vision.
This place was undoubtedly larger than Sector 50.
A larger area.
More inhabitants.
…Surely, at least one or two people here would have knowledge about magic.
Ray parked his vehicle deep within a pile of scrap metal and turned off the engine.
**Thud—clank.**
He stepped out and set up makeshift alarms using odds and ends to ensure he’d hear any intruders.
Then, he returned to the car and shut the door.
“……”
All around him lay thick darkness.
He shut his weary eyes and let his consciousness sink into slumber.
His activities would begin tomorrow.
Wandering around in the slums after dark was as good as a death sentence.
—
—
The following morning, Ray finished his breakfast and tucked a can of food and a bottle of water into his coat before heading into the sector.
He wouldn’t use his car for a while.
In a district filled with the impoverished, the mere sight of a car would draw attention.
If people found out that the car belonged to a young boy, it would only invite looters or attacks.
*‘Were the golems only in Sector 50?’*
There were no golems to be seen in the scrapyards of Sector 49.
Perhaps that was why there were so few scavengers, whether adults or children, near the outskirts of the junkyard.
Crossing a rickety, crumbling bridge, Ray entered the heart of the sector.
The smell changed.
From the acrid metallic stench of scrap metal to the foul odor of sewage.
Not that it mattered.
The boy didn’t experience pleasure or displeasure from smells.
The street scene didn’t differ much from Sector 50.
The sticky morning air.
Drunken bodies sprawled everywhere.
Vendors opening their shops with lifeless movements.
*”How’s the work in the mines? Heard wages went up a bit.”*
*”If I die, I die. Screw it.”*
*”Heh heh. I… I can still drink more.”*
A drunken vagrant staggered toward Ray, reaching out to grab him.
“Kid, you… got some money? Hic.”
Ray dodged, and the vagrant flailed before collapsing to the ground.
**Thud!**
Such incidents were nothing new.
Without a second glance, Ray continued walking down the street.
He glanced at a nearby sign.
**”Street No. 36.”**
This sector had at least twice as many streets as Sector 50.
There was a lot to cover.
The search might take longer than anticipated.
His top priority was to find clues about magic.
For revenge, he needed power. And the magic he had witnessed wasn’t just a tool—it was a force far beyond guns or blades.
Moreover, his target for revenge was a mage.
He needed to understand magic for what it truly was.
*‘…I also need clues about the Rainbow and the City of the Magician.’*
The next priority was money.
He didn’t know how far upstream and downstream Elton River he’d have to travel during his journey of vengeance.
That meant he’d need ample supplies—food, water, fuel, medicine.
Those were things that money could easily resolve.
While Humphrey had given him some funds, it wasn’t nearly enough to sustain him throughout his entire journey.
Before leaving this sector, he needed to amass as much money as possible.
“……”
As he walked the streets, Ray noticed that eyes were gathering around him.
No, not just a few.
He was certain there were at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching him.
Shoe shiners, gum sellers, touts—they all eyed him with guarded suspicion.
Ray’s lips curled slightly.
Of course, this wasn’t unlike Sector 50.
He understood why they acted as they did.
A stranger wandering boldly in their territory was hardly a welcome sight.
Especially one who didn’t appear timid but walked with confidence.
*‘They’ll think I’m provoking them. Not a clueless outsider but a challenger to their rules.’*
Ray didn’t hide himself.
Though his hood remained up, his stride was unyielding.
If he intended to operate in Sector 49, confrontation was inevitable.
It was better to face it head-on from the start.
The street boys’ glares grew more hostile, but Ray paid them no mind.
*”They’re hiring people again, aren’t they? Heard Sector 45 is looking for workers.”*
*”If only I’d won that money yesterday…”*
Ray spent the entire morning walking the streets, picking up snippets of conversations.
He hoped to catch a clue about magic but found nothing.
*‘I’ve only searched one street. Asking directly should be the last resort.’*
He was just a boy from an outside sector searching for a mage.
Drawing unnecessary attention wasn’t ideal.
The sun climbed higher.
Ray finished a can of food for lunch under a bridge and resumed his search.
—
Eventually, he stopped in front of a two-story building.
The first floor appeared to be a shop, with living quarters above.
**”Bookstore… Veronica?”**
He carefully sounded out the letters on the signboard.
Niles had once taught him a few words and phrases.
*”Hungry. Help me. Kill you. Gun. Sun. The last one reads ‘brother.’ Say it, brother.”*
*”……”*
Though it had been a casual, playful lesson, Ray remembered every bit of it.
He had taught himself how to sound out words and could read simple ones without trouble.
Of course, understanding their meaning was another matter.
He stared at the shop.
Books? Could this place have anything to do with magic?
Inside, shelves lined with rectangular objects were visible through the unlit windows.
Ray frowned. He had no idea what those items were.
As he pondered, an angry shout broke his thoughts.
*”Hey!”*
A girl leaned out of the second-floor window.
Her short, wavy red hair framed a face that, while pretty, carried a sharp expression.
*”You broke the glass last time, didn’t you? Back to steal more books?”*
Books? Were those items inside the shop called books?
*”Get lost! Why are you doing this to us?”*
The girl’s emotions radiated vivid hues of mana—red for anger, yellow for joy, navy for discomfort, and deep green for irritation.
It was an unusual combination.
*‘Those colors shouldn’t coexist like that.’*
Ray simply observed her, unresponsive.
Eventually, he turned and walked away from the “Bookstore Veronica.”
—
—
Ray continued exploring the sector the following day but found no trace of magic.
Instead, the glares of the street boys grew more intense.
When night fell, he returned to his vehicle among the scrap metal.
**Ray curled up on the seat, covering the vehicle with a cloth as he returned to the car amidst the heap of scrap metal.**
*”Is there really no clue here? I haven’t scouted the entire sector yet, though.”*
A faint emotion surfaced in his heart.
Though small, it was undoubtedly anxiety.
Ray closed his eyes.
How much time had passed?
*Tap— Tap—*
Footsteps echoed outside.
Ray carefully lifted his head to peer out the window.
Several small silhouettes were moving cautiously between the piles of scrap metal, steadily approaching his position. Their movements were subtle, their footsteps barely audible. The only reason Ray noticed them was because he had been paying close attention to his surroundings.
*”They’re finally here. Three people… no, four.”*
Thanks to the mana glowing faintly around his pursuers, Ray was able to pinpoint their numbers and locations with precision.
These were undoubtedly the sources of the sharp, piercing stares he had felt from a distance. Having followed him all the way to the scrapyard, an ambush was only to be expected.
He withdrew his gaze from the window and curled up once more on the seat.
The footsteps grew louder, stopping just outside the window.
Ray glanced upward.
No one was visible through the window.
The intruders were pressed against the vehicle, crouching low.
Inside and outside the car, all breathing ceased.
The still night air grew taut, like a wire stretched to its limit.
Ray reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather pouch, wrapping its neck securely around his hand. Inside was a heavy stone, crafted earlier in the day from junk scavenged at the scrapyard—a makeshift weapon.
Murmurs broke the silence.
*”Do we kill him?”*
*”Subdue him first. Gag him so he can’t scream.”*
*”We need to find the trunk key. I bet there’s food inside.”*
*Territorialism?*
Such a shallow word couldn’t capture the reality of the situation.
This was *plunder.*
After all, this was the slums.
If you didn’t take, you’d be taken from.
If you didn’t kill, you’d be killed.
It was the law of survival, a brutal truth Ray had learned in his bones since childhood.
He harbored no complaints.
This sort of thing was all too familiar to him.
The moment a head began to rise slowly beneath the window—
*Wham!*
Ray moved like lightning, swinging his blackjack toward the window.
*Crash!*
*”Agh!”*
The blackjack smashed through the glass, striking its target. One silhouette collapsed to the ground, blood streaming from their head as their body convulsed.
*”Shit!”*
*”What the hell?!”*
Before the others could recover from their shock, the door flew open, and Ray leaped out.
*Whoosh!*
The blackjack tore through the air without hesitation.
The mana illuminating the attackers acted as clear targets.
*”Urgh—!”*
A second silhouette crumpled instantly, clutching their solar plexus as drool spilled from their mouth.
*”You bastard! Die!”*
The remaining figures swung their clubs, but Ray’s movements were too swift.
Dodging every attack with ease, Ray retaliated.
*Crack!*
The sound of breaking bones echoed as the last attacker fell at his feet.
*”Ugh…”*
*”Ah…”*
A brief commotion was followed by silence.
Only the groans and labored movements of the fallen could be heard.
Under the moonlight, Ray saw the faces of the raiders.
They were all around his age.
Ray crouched down in front of the oldest-looking boy among them.
*”Hey.”*
He wasn’t about to ask the obvious questions.
Why they came. What they wanted.
He already knew how street kids survived.
The boys’ hot breaths mingled with the cold night air, dissipating into the darkness.
Ray’s chilling voice broke the tension.
*”How many streets do you control?”*
