After running nonstop through the labyrinthine streets, Arata finally reached the outskirts, stopping right beside the old, weathered wooden bridge.
The strong, sour stench of sewage flowing beneath it permeated the air, making it almost unbearable to breathe.
Arata covered his nose with one hand, trying to block out the smell.
— I'm never going to get used to this stench... — he muttered, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
He took a deep breath and crossed the wooden structure, which creaked beneath his feet.
Now, he was entering the slums. But unlike the previous times, he was completely alone.
Here, night seemed to fall much faster. Rotten wooden shacks and sheets of rusted metal leaned claustrophobically over the narrow alleys, blocking the last orange rays of sunlight and covering the muddy ground in dense, freezing shadows.
Arata felt the cold dampness seep through the worn soles of his shoes with every hesitant step.
Around him, hooded figures and demi-humans with dull, lifeless gazes watched him carefully through the cracks of doors and windows.
Children dressed in old, filthy rags huddled in the dark corners.
There was no sign of human warmth anywhere, only the distant echoes of coughing and the frightening metallic scraping of blades being sharpened in the darkness.
Arata swallowed hard. Fear weighed heavily on his chest.
No matter how hard he tried to hide his nervousness and maintain his composure, reality hit him with full force: he had no one beside him.
He was alone, unarmed, and vulnerable in this hostile place.
He continued walking cautiously, forcing himself to take slow steps that produced muffled sounds in the mud, breaking the uncomfortable silence of the alley.
With every meter he advanced, another chill ran down his spine because of the oppressive atmosphere surrounding him.
Keeping his focus, he followed the route from his memories until he spotted the same shack as before.
Sitting on the wooden bench was the same weary-looking resident.
The man raised his eyes and examined Arata with suspicion.
— Hey, kid. What is someone like you doing around here alone at this hour?
— I'm looking for a thief... Her name is Yumi — Arata answered directly, trying to sound confident.
The man inhaled deeply and scratched his chin.
— Yumi, huh? She hasn't passed through here recently.
But I heard that, up the northern slope, there's a large house where some underworld negotiations take place.
There's a good chance she'll get involved in whatever is happening there tonight.
— I understand. Thank you very much for your help — Arata said, slightly bowing his head.
— Don't mention it. But be careful, kid... The Ripper Assassin who operates around these parts doesn't fool around — the man warned before returning his gaze to the ground.
Arata swallowed hard upon hearing the nickname.
He said goodbye with a discreet wave and resumed walking toward the north.
The climb seemed endless.
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The isolated sound of his own footsteps contrasted terribly with the crushing silence of the slums.
As he continued forward under a sheen of cold sweat, the muffled sounds of coughing and the scraping of sharpened metal continued to echo from inside the surrounding shacks.
He kept moving, determined not to falter.
Finally, the climb came to an end.
Standing before him was the large, weathered wooden house.
Arata slowly approached it and, with his heart pounding against his ribs and his body consumed by a shiver of pure terror, knocked firmly on the door.
In his mind, the image of the brown-skinned man he had seen dead in the previous loop appeared vividly.
"If he was murdered that time, why? Did Yumi use this place and this negotiation as bait to lure the owner of the necklace here? But what would be the purpose of killing him?"
Questions surrounded him.
Even knowing that death could be waiting for him, he refused to retreat.
To his surprise, the door opened with a click.
A strong, bald, brown-skinned man with a white beard appeared in the doorway.
The man observed Arata for several seconds before speaking.
His eyes passed over the boy's unusual clothes before stopping for a moment on the white streak running through his brown hair.
— You really don't look like you're from around here... — the man remarked curiously.
— It's a long story...
— Well, hello there. Who are you, kid? — the man asked, raising an eyebrow. — Did you come here for the negotiation too?
— I did! — Arata puffed out his chest. — I want to negotiate for the necklace that was stolen!
The man let out a quiet laugh and stepped aside, allowing him to enter.
— Ah, I see... So you're going to participate in the bidding alongside this little girl here. Come in.
Arata crossed the threshold and examined the interior of the house.
There were two rustic tables, and sitting in one of the wooden chairs was a short young girl with striking pink hair.
She wore rather worn casual clothes and had a sharp gaze that immediately settled on Arata's modern outfit.
— What weird clothes you're wearing — she said bluntly.
The girl continued observing Arata for several seconds.
It wasn't only his strange clothes that caught her attention.
There was also that small white streak among his brown hair, standing out against the front of his face.
— Your hair is interesting.
Arata raised an eyebrow.
— My hair?
Felicia pointed at the white streak.
— This part. Is it natural?
Arata reached up and ran his fingers through the strands.
— Yeah... I was born with it.
The girl tilted her head slightly.
— Interesting. Usually, people with unusual features like that have some kind of story behind them.
For a few seconds, Arata stood still.
His fingers continued touching the white streak.
He tried to remember.
Where did it come from?
Who had told him something about it?
Why did he have that mark?
Nothing.
Only the same emptiness as always.
But his expression quickly changed.
He put on a carefree smile.
— Maybe it's just a unique birthmark... Or maybe I'm a lost prince. You never know.
Felicia stared at him without reacting.
— Do you really think things like that?
— Of course! A protagonist needs to have some kind of mystery, right?
She let out a sigh.
— You're weird.
Arata laughed.
— I'll take that as a compliment.
But remembering what you said about my clothes...
— I'm the one asking! What are those old rags you're wearing?! — Arata shot back defensively.
— Hey! Don't talk like that! — the girl frowned, annoyed. — I live in the slums. What did you expect? Some kind of fancy outfit? You came here to negotiate for the necklace too?
— Exactly.
— And why do you want it so badly? — she asked, crossing her arms. — I came here to negotiate so I can sell it on the black market and make a good amount of money.
And you? What's your interest?
— I want to recover it and return it to its rightful owner — Arata answered honestly.
The girl stared at him as if he were crazy.
— You're a really strange guy...
— So, what are your names, anyway? — Arata changed the subject, trying to understand who the pieces on this chessboard were.
— My name is Felicia — the young girl replied, pointing her thumb toward the bearded man beside her. — And this old geezer here is Old Bon.
Bon smiled warmly and extended his calloused hand, gently ruffling Felicia's hair.
— I'm like a grandfather to this adorable little girl here — the elderly man explained in a warm tone.
Upon witnessing the peaceful, familial scene, Arata's mind fell into conflict.
"If they're like this, then why did Yumi kill Old Bon in the other loop? Did the negotiation go wrong, or was the plan never to negotiate in the first place? Was this house simply a trap meant to lure the necklace's owner here? But why go as far as murdering him?"
Noticing the boy's dazed expression, Bon leaned forward.
— Hey, kid... Are you alright? You suddenly got all thoughtful.
Arata snapped back to reality, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and forcing a sheepish smile to hide his thoughts.
— Ah, it's nothing! It's just... I'm trying to understand how this negotiation works. The thief, Yumi... Did she steal the necklace for you?
— Of course not — Felicia interjected, shaking her head. — She stole it on behalf of someone from the Cult of One, who hired her specifically for this job. I simply heard about it and requested a negotiation with her, hoping to make a better offer and obtain the necklace for myself.
— The Cult of One...? — Arata frowned, the name echoing ominously in his ears. — What the hell is that?
Old Bon's eyes widened, genuinely surprised by the young man's ignorance.
— You don't know? Are you serious? The Cult of One is simply the largest and most dangerous evil organization in all of Lugiri.
— I'm from very far away. I don't know anything about the things around here — Arata quickly explained.
— Very well — Bon lowered his voice, adopting a more serious tone. — The Cult was founded ages ago by the Witch Marina, the Traitor Witch, alongside a man named Zenji.
They created the sect for sinister reasons that nobody knows for certain, but it is known that Zenji actively seeks a way to break the ancient seal imprisoning the evil being known as One.
The organization is commanded by five Bishops, and rumors say that each of them possesses an "Authority", profane powers granted by Marina that are capable of breaking the laws of the world.
All to free that damned deity.
Arata processed the information, feeling the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place in his mind.
"So that's why that blonde girl got so furious when I called her Marina... The name belongs to the greatest traitor in the history of this world."
— Now I understand how serious the situation is... But these Bishops... Are they associated with the Seven Deadly Sins? — Arata murmured.
— Of course not. It's simply the highest position within the organization, above the high- and low-ranking members.
They're only below Marina and Zenji.
But it doesn't seem like the Bishops actually want to break the seal. It looks more like they use the organization to pursue their own goals.
Arata thought for a moment before asking another question.
— I was told that four witches participated in the war against One thousands of years ago. So, do you know what happened to the others?
Felicia shook her head.
— After what Marina did, everyone came to fear and hate witches. Unfortunately, I don't know exactly what happened to the other witches.
— Well, since you're all standing around here, get ready — Bon said, walking toward the center of the hall. — The two of you will present your offers for the necklace.
Yumi should be arriving any moment now.
The very next second, the muffled and firm sound of three knocks echoed against the wooden front door.
Old Bon calmly approached and turned the handle, opening the way.
The elegant silhouette of Yumi crossed the threshold, her black eyes gleaming with cynical amusement beneath the lamplight.
Displaying a sly smile, she looked at everyone inside and declared:
— Let's begin the negotiations.
End of Chapter 8.
To be continued in Chapter 9...