Numbness, silence, gloom, and dampness—these were Ophelia’s only impressions of the Lower District.
The stone-paved road beneath her feet still clung to sticky, foul water—the perfect fertilizer for wild grass, which grew wildly through the cracks between the stones.
Most shops lining the street were shuttered, some even sealed with tags from the Royal Capital’s Security Office.
Either owing taxes or caught with contraband.
Figures darting out from alleyways were mostly hunched, dressed in tattered clothes faded from countless washings, some patched in several places.
Some wore shoes, but more wore things barely resembling footwear, crudely woven from yellowed straw.
This was the Lower District of the Royal Capital—a world utterly different from the Upper District across the Sena River.
If the Upper and Lower Districts were displayed side by side, no one would believe they belonged to the same city.
A sudden tug on her arm by Anna made Ophelia stagger.
She glanced down and saw a rat scurrying past her feet.
Before she could thank her, Anna abruptly stopped.
A tremble traveled through their linked fingers.
In Ophelia’s peripheral vision, Anna lowered her gaze, her shoulders visibly trembling.
Her fingertips gripped tighter, as if a drowning person clutching the only lifeline.
“Anna?” “Anna?”
A low, hoarse male voice, as if strained from smoke and soot, sounded from the street.
Someone Anna knew?
Ophelia turned her head; the voice came from the only shop open on this street—a bakery with a conspicuous sign.
The scruffy, bearded owner was packing bread for customers while watching Anna beside Ophelia.
Ophelia felt she’d seen the man’s face before, but the memory was vague and elusive.
Her gaze flicked between Anna and the shop owner.
At last, Anna spoke.
“Aleksei…”
Her voice was rough, as if soaked in lemon’s sour sting.
Ophelia recalled—this bakery owner was none other than Aleksei Grilla, the Shield Hero, one of the five former Heroes.
Because he was the quiet backbone of the team, he had received the least blame and punishment during the Public Trial.
From King to Commoner, everyone believed he had done his duty and was innocent.
All their pity and regret, however, transformed into daggers aimed at Anna.
In other words, the responsibilities the other four Heroes shirked and abandoned all weighed heavily on Anna’s frail shoulders.
“Anna… I…”
Ophelia saw the owner’s mouth move under the shadow of the bread oven, as if wanting to say something.
But mindful of the queue of customers, he remained silent.
“Let’s go, Sister Ophelia.”
Anna never once looked toward him.
“Is this okay? That shop owner—is he someone you know?”
Though she recognized the former Shield Hero, Ophelia feigned ignorance.
“Ophelia knows who he is.”
She couldn’t fool her.
Ophelia reversed her hand, pressing her palm tightly against Anna’s.
Her fingers slipped through Anna’s and climbed onto the back of her hand; their fingers intertwined.
The scent of bread gradually faded behind them.
They passed a small bridge.
Beneath it flowed a tributary of the Sena River, littered with all kinds of floating garbage.
A slumped beggar sat on the bridge, crippled, leaning on a worn, blackened cane.
Anna dropped a few copper coins into his cracked bowl as she walked past.
“Thank you, Anna.”
The beggar didn’t open his eyes but called out her name with precision.
“How have you been lately?”
Anna crouched before him, her hand firmly resting on Ophelia’s fingers.
Her tone was gentle, as if addressing an old acquaintance.
“Not starving, at least—there’s bread crusts to eat every day. Aleksei still takes good care of us… And Anna? Don’t be so stubborn, don’t let yourself end up like me…”
“What nonsense. You’re living just fine—free and easy, unlike me.”
When Anna spoke this, Ophelia saw the faintest smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
It was the first time she had ever seen Anna smile.
“Anna… And this young lady beside you is…?”
“She is—”
“I’m Anna’s friend, Ophelia Castilan.”
Ophelia beat Anna to the introduction.
“Castilan… No wonder you smell of cedar wood. So you’re a Young Lady from the Northern Territories. Our Anna is truly grateful for your kindness.”
The beggar struggled to rise, ignoring his disabled legs.
Stubbornly, he knelt on one good leg.
The raw stump of his other leg stabbed the ground, causing him to grit his teeth in pain, but he endured.
His right fist clenched and struck his chest heavily—an awkward, somewhat comical knight’s salute.
“Let’s go, Ophelia.”
Anna stood and beckoned.
Ophelia dug into her pocket and pulled out a few silver coins.
She knelt and carefully placed them in the beggar’s bowl.
“Let’s go.”
She followed Anna forward, but behind them came the beggar’s soft whisper.
“Duke… Is His Grace in good health?”
It was a Northern accent Ophelia hadn’t heard in a long time.
“He’s well.”
“That’s good. Young Lady, please send him my regards.”
“Of course.”
Ophelia was moved but kept walking.
Anna never paused; how could she?
Even after crossing the stone bridge, Ophelia still faintly heard the beggar’s Northern dialect fading behind them.
“Madam… The Young Lady has grown so… You may now…”
Crossing the bridge, Anna turned down a narrow alley that was far cleaner and less chaotic than before.
The eaves stretched out like iron wings covering the sky, yet beneath these wings, some resistance thrived.
Potted vegetables rooted at the wall bases grew robustly.
The sound of footsteps echoed as residents working on both sides glanced over.
Some were turning soil for the vegetables, others patching up cracks in the walls with mud, while others trimmed vines crawling up the walls.
Most were disabled—some with empty pant legs leaning on makeshift wooden crutches; some blind in one eye, covered by a rag; others missing both arms, gripping a pot rim tightly with their teeth, their cheeks contorted with effort.
Seeing Anna, they all stopped their work.
Anna passed through them, chest held high, like a hero inspecting her loyal followers.
Neither she nor they spoke a word until they left the alley.
But the image of Anna’s proud chest was branded in Ophelia’s mind.
In a short time, she had seen several new facets of Anna.
“That’s the ‘Companion Village,’ where I lived for two years,” Anna stopped at the door of a worn, low cottage.
She grabbed a broom and swept the dust from the doorstep. “This is my home. Would you like to come in, Ophelia?”
“Hmm, I do have something I want to ask you.”
“I have something I want to ask you, too.”
Ophelia followed Anna inside.
The room had no lights; Anna reached out blindly to light a candle on the round table.
They sat across from each other as if having an unspoken candlelight dinner.