The Devil Emperor From A Bloody Beggar

The First Year Stories: Chapter 9 Midnight Discourse

The Blood Pupil glanced briefly, catching sight of the infant girl and the beggar boy, and spoke with a tone of utter scorn.

"Human, did she have anything to do with you?"

The beggar boy didn't respond. His cold gaze remained fixed on the infant's face. However, after

ten seconds, he suddenly hugged the baby tightly and started to run.

The Blood Pupil said nothing more, merely watching the boy with a cold, resolved stare. The Blood

Pupil stayed silent, just watching the little beggar with a cold stare.

After the beggar boy ran through three alleys, the chain from the handle pulled back, sliding the dagger into his arm that was wrapped in chains.

...

Now it was late at night. The city of Senag was dark and quiet like a "city of death." Everything was covered in snow – streets, buildings, signs, carriages – all white.

But under a bridge, there was a spot with old cloth around it. A soft orange light came out from this simple shelter, making a warm spot in the cold.

Inside, there was dry grass on the ground and a wool blanket found by a beggar who died in the cold.

The tent was sealed with newspaper stuck with glue from a government office.

In a corner, a dim oil lamp with a bad smell burned. The boy got the oil after three beggars fought for it.

The baby girl lay on the grass, not looking well. The boy covered her with the blanket. He got a water jug, stepped out, and filled it half with river water.

But the boy stood by the river, not moving.

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" the Blood Pupil's voice came in his head, but he didn't reply.

He just looked at the dirty water, the wood, the dead dog, and the mud. Then, he looked at the snow coming down.

He dumped the water out. He cleaned the jug with snow from the ground, shook fresh snow into it from the bridge's handrail, and went back under the bridge.

He built a simple stove with bricks, took some dry grass and wood from the tent, and started boiling the snow.

The snow turned into water and steamed. The beggar boy coughed; he was thirsty. Losing a lot of blood made him crave the hot water.

But he waited, then carefully took the water off the stove.

This water... it was clean, not like the dirty river. It was precious, made with the little oil, wood, and grass he had. The steam seemed to call to him— "Come on, drink. We're so clean and smell good. You do want to drink us, right?"

Thirsty, he leaned down and blew on the water to cool it.

He brought the jug into the tent, got under the blankets, and held the baby girl. He dipped a clean straw into the water and gave it to her.

The warm water made the baby girl open her mouth. She was hungry, thirsty, weak from fever, and needed food.

"Goo... uh... waa...!"

The baby's sounds surprised him, but then he got an idea. He took out a piece of bread, looked at it, then at the baby. He waited, then chewed a piece, mixed it with his spit, made a paste, and fed her.

A bit of bread paste, a sip of water. She was so hungry, she ate eagerly. She finished the jug of water. She seemed full, her head fell to the side, and she slept.

The beggar boy thought, then opened his clothes, put the baby against his chest, closed his clothing, and covered them both with the blanket. He sat against the bridge wall and turned off the lamp.