Vir could no longer hide behind the excuse of ignorance. These peoples’ problems—the city’s problems—were the leader’s problems.
His mind spun, reaching for ways he could help these poor souls.
While it might be within his means to feed, clothe, and house one or two strangers, how was he to do that for a city?
In some alleys, people moaned. In another, a mother sobbed over her infant child who was so emaciated, Vir surely thought it was dead. Then he saw its small chest rise. To his surprise and horror, it was still alive.
Demons are more resilient than humans… Which also meant they could endure more hardship and torture before succumbing.
The weight of Cirayus’ expectations suddenly felt a lot heavier on Vir’s shoulders, and it was only the familiar sight of emaciated bandies roaming the slums that soothed his thoughts.
In a place where everything—from the people to the soil to the sun—was foreign, a familiar sight made all the difference in the world.
Wonder how Neel’s doing, Vir thought, missing his old friend dearly.
It was stupid of him to have thought he could make a difference here. He had nothing. He didn’t even have a spare coin he could toss their way; the few silvers he had on hand were barely enough for himself.
With clenched fists and ground teeth, Vir forced himself to move on. He left his Foundation Chakra closed.
It was all he could do for these people right now. Somehow, relying on the ability to calm his thoughts felt wrong. Like it cheapened the plight of the poor souls forced to live through this nightmare.
Vir couldn’t ease their suffering. But he could at least share a bit of their pain.
Soon, the dirt abated and the roads became tidier, the buildings larger and less dense. Not well built or well maintained, but compared to the cesspool he’d just left, this was comparatively a breath of fresh air. The smell was now at least bearable.
Vir soon arrived at a square in the middle of town, where plenty of activity occurred.
His first task was to find Greesha—Cirayus’ contact in Samar Patag. The seer who’d prophesied his birth.
Vir had mixed feelings about meeting that woman, and he hadn’t yet had the time to meditate on his emotions. He’d simply have to work through it when he found her.
Cirayus provided a description—an elderly, stone-faced red demon with white hair and red eyes that looked like they could cut you to shreds.
“She’s the most dangerous-looking person in the room. And the loudest voice. She’ll be the person in charge. Trust me, you can’t miss her.”
While Cirayus wasn’t concerned about Vir locating her, he was less certain, so he’d pressed the giant for more information. Locating a lone demon in a city of thousands would be a tall order, no matter how… eccentric.
Luckily, there was another lead. The woman wielded Life and Shadow prana, which meant Prana Vision could easily locate her, assuming Vir drew within about thirty paces. His mastery over the ability had improved alongside his other skills, and with it, so had its detection range.
Vir jumped up to a rooftop. Unlike Daha, the builders here boasted pointed roofs, many of which were adorned with complex engravings of gods doing battle. The architecture was beautiful, in an austere way, to say nothing of the handful of temples he’d come across. Multi-tiered and absolutely covered in gorgeous carvings, Vir found himself enraptured, taking them in.
A pity its denizens thought little of preserving that heritage. Vir spotted more than a handful of demons pissing on this ancient, beautiful art. Many had been so covered in grime and trash they were no longer possible to discern.
Vir forced his attention back to the people ambling around. It was not only an excellent opportunity to train his Life Chakra, it allowed him to witness demons as they lived and went about their business.
There was a surprising similarity to the Imperium citizens during their heyday. The garb—brightly colored silken garments, were nearly identical, if far less ornate. None of the prana-infused art the Imperium was enamored with, either.
Vir spotted four-armed demons and even one giant—a full torso taller than Cirayus, but the vast majority were regular red demons and Kothis—Chitran monkey people. Thankfully, Vir didn’t spot a single Iksana Ghael. Cirayus had been right when he called them reclusive.
That was fine by Vir. The fewer Iksana around, the less likely his Ash prana—and thus his identity—would be exposed.
After a half hour of people-watching, Vir began to wonder if another approach would be better. He hadn’t made any progress toward sensing the life signs of others, nor had he caught sight of anyone looking like Greesha. If she was such a famous person, Vir figured he could just ask someone about her.
Doubt lingered in Vir’s mind. What if Cirayus’ cavern vision really had been fake? What if Greesha wasn’t expecting him?
Just then, shouts erupted in the middle of the plaza.
A fight?
Vir was about to move closer to spectate when he froze.
At the very center of the plaza, being slapped around by the guards, was none other than Darsh, bravely shielding his little sister Hetal. The boy allowed his body to be used as a punching bag and was already bruised in several places.
The ones doing the punching weren’t ruffians or bandits. They were Samar Patag’s guards. Chitran guards.
Vir swore under his breath. No wonder Darsh and Hetal had looked so scared when he’d left. They hadn’t just been sad at parting! They’d been worried about their own safety.
Cursing his mistake, Vir Leaped into the air high above the plaza, all thoughts of maintaining a low profile forgotten.
Some things were more important.
Four monkey-faced guards in cloth-and-mail armor surrounded Darsh. The armor clad only their torso and bits of their biceps and thighs, leaving their limbs and tail unprotected. Serviceable, but overall, very light compared to what most in the Human Realm preferred. Whether the choice was because of their inherent demonic resilience, the muggy air, or their fighting styles, Vir couldn’t say.
He also couldn’t say why a bunch of guards were harassing an innocent kid like Darsh.
What he could say was that not one of them noticed him fall from the sky. Not until it was too late.
Vir landed with extreme force, cracking the tiles underfoot, kicking up a cloud of dust.
For a long moment, the guards simply gaped, giving Vir ample opportunity to study them up close.
These guards were stronger than the average human by a significant margin. Though the prana within them matched the surroundings’ density—low for the Human Realm, but not as low as the desert to the east—their tattoos concentrated the prana, pulling in the meager amount to power spells.
Though Vir knew from experience that the tattoos could pull prana from the air and ground with great efficacy, their overall strength wasn’t anything special—the tattoos had their limits.
The Chitran guards wielded an assortment of talwars, scimitars, and spears. None seric, but all well forged and maintained.
Vir decided not to underestimate these demons. Not only did they have tattoos, Vir knew little about the nature of demonic powers. Their abstract properties meant everyone he dealt with would fight in their own unique way. Cirayus had once bemoaned that demons’ lack of standardization crippled them on the battlefield, but one-on-one, it made them unpredictable.
“What’s the matter?” Vir asked. “Badrak got your tongue?”
“Who in Vera’s name are you?” a monkey guard exclaimed.
“Their protection.”
“A Warrior?” the guard asked in surprise. He turned to Darsh. “How’d you afford that? Your village is poor as dirt.”