Eyes began to move towards them—this was one thing he hated. He usually kept a low profile, but now things were worse. If this was Lik and someone had shouted, nobody would've cared, everyone would've minded their business.
His dirty clothes would've helped him leave. But here, the clothes had already given him away, he looked poor. And once someone shouted "thief," even if he didn't steal, the rags on his body had already judged him guilty.
People began to gather.
A large man walked toward him, his voice coming out in a deep growl before he spoke loudly.
"What is it?" his voice rang out, and the place instantly fell silent.
'Why loud, bro I am just in front of you…show off'
The butcher stepped forward, his thick accent slicing through the quiet.
"This bastard here carry my roasted meat and corn and wan' leave!" the man yelled in broken English, his eyes wide with fury as gasps echoed all around.
'Why are these villagers so dramatic?' Zavry thought, rolling his eyes at the reaction it was not like he stole the whole market.
"You dare roll your eyes?" the man roared. Zavry quickly shook his head, raising his hands to sign that he hadn't meant anything by it. But the man misunderstood—again.
"You dare call me dumb…?"
Before Zavry could even think, a fist connected with his face, and he crashed to the ground. A gasp escaped the crowd as they stared at the unmoving body.
The man who had punched him looked panicked as the butcher walked over. The butcher knelt to check Zavry's pulse. His body went still. That said everything. He stood up slowly. Silence consumed the crowd as everyone waited for his verdict.
Even the man who had struck him looked terrified, waiting for the butcher to say something—anything. Was the boy dead? Was he cooked?
But the butcher said nothing. He simply stepped back, grabbed his large bag, and started packing his things. It was then the realization hit.
"Aaaaahhhhhh!" a woman screamed as blood began to pool beneath Zavry's head.
"He's dead!" she screamed again.
Panic exploded. People began to run. The man who hit him bolted. The entire market descended into chaos. Sellers packed up their goods; some abandoned them and fled.
Minutes passed. No one remained.
Of course, no one would stay. In this village, if you killed someone, you'd be put on trial by the elders. And no one wanted that. Even bribing your way out cost more than what anyone made selling in the market.
Zavry's body shifted.
The pack in his hand clenched tighter as a slow grin curled his lips.
"What a day to play dead," he muttered in his head as he sat up.
He stood quickly, picking up a cloth and wiping the blood off his head. Then, without hesitation, he unwrapped the bag and began eating the chicken and corn.
He hadn't expected them to scatter like that.
His body stilled when he noticed a small boy at the edge of the market, his face dusty as he peeked. Zavry guessed he was a beggar.
He reached out his hand, and the boy slowly stepped forward. When he stopped in front of Zavry, his disheveled brown hair and tired eyes settled on the remaining corn and meat. Zavry handed it to him.
"Thank you, Mr. Death," the boy said calmly.
Zavry's eyes widened, then a smirk formed. This boy must have seen through his act. He nodded as the boy began eating hungrily.
Maybe he could ask the boy where the castle was.
The boy looked up.
"Do you have something to say?" he asked curiously, cheeks puffed with food.
Zavry nodded. He couldn't sign here—and he had no paper or pen.
Noticing his struggle, the boy spoke again.
"Come with me."
Zavry nodded and followed. The boy looked no older than nine. They walked until they reached a bushy area. The boy plucked out a stick—the candlelight nearby glowing faintly. He pointed at the ground and handed the stick to Zavry.
"You can write on the floor."
Zavry nodded. That was actually a great idea. Why hadn't he thought of that?
"Seems I am really dumbass," he muttered to himself as he bent down and wrote,
'Where is the castle?'
The boy read it easily. Zavry wondered how he could read, but brushed it off.
"Do you have a mission before you go to the land of the dead?" the boy asked curiously.
Zavry stared at him. He had forgotten how curious little kids could be. If only the boy knew how much time he had wasted here already..and he still hadn't reached his destination.
"Thanks for the corn and meat, Mr. Death."
'What is with this boy and Mr. Death?' Zavry wondered, staring at him.
"Go straight ahead, to the other side. In fact, you're lucky..it won't take more than five minutes to reach the castle," the boy said, lifting his head confidently.
Zavry nodded and bent down to write 'thank you' in the sand.
But when he looked up again, the boy was gone.
He glanced around.
'Is this kid playing hide and seek?' he thought. At least he now knew the way.
He walked calmly to the empty road, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handheld torch. The place was eerily quiet, but he didn't mind at all.
He kept walking until finally… he reached.
But what greeted him were tall, imposing walls.
He sighed, pushing his hair back.
The castle was massive—he could see the taller buildings even from outside, despite the darkness.
After several frustrating minutes of walking…
'Good thing I faked being dead. I wouldn't have eaten that corn and meat otherwise,' he muttered as he finally arrived at the gate.
'Fuck.' Now how was he supposed to get inside?
As if that wasn't enough, it started to rain.