Seeing that the situation was heading in an unfavorable direction, the woman immediately stepped forward.
Extending her hand toward the newcomers, she offered a polite smile before introducing herself. "I'm Vanya, Talon's assistant during most of his expeditions into the wastelands."
Her words flowed smoothly, her voice low and silky, like soft fabric gliding across the skin. A faint smile played on her lips as she continued.
"We can show you around if you'd like. Your first visit can be rather overwhelming, especially if you're unfamiliar with how things work around here."
As she spoke, her eyes discreetly swept across each member of the group, studying them one after another.
She observed their appearances, physiques, and demeanors, instinctively measuring their worth and assessing what each of them might bring to the table. Her smile remained perfectly composed, concealing the calculations taking place behind her eyes.
However, her extended hand remained untouched.
After allowing it to hang there for several moments, Vanya calmly withdrew it, showing no outward sign of embarrassment. The faint smile on her face never wavered, as though the entire exchange had unfolded exactly as she had expected.
Marco, meanwhile, had already begun walking forward.
He neither responded to her introduction nor bothered to acknowledge the two individuals blocking their path. He simply walked past them, his expression indifferent.
Marco had little patience for these petty mind games. He could already tell that the pair were attempting to probe them, assess their reactions, and establish some form of authority over the newcomers.
Frankly, he found the entire performance irritating.
If they hadn't just arrived in unfamiliar territory governed by someone else, he would probably have pulverized the two troublemakers already. He wouldn't have needed to stand there listening to their nonsense or tolerate their little displays of superiority.
But this wasn't his territory.
For now, it was better to avoid unnecessary trouble.
The rest of the group followed Marco without saying a word, leaving Talon and Vanya standing behind them.
Neither of them attempted to stop the newcomers again.
A while later, after the five figures had walked far enough away, only Talon and Vanya remained at the roadside, watching their retreating backs.
Talon's grin had yet to disappear.
Vanya, however, exhaled softly. "They didn't even bother to look at us properly," she remarked, a trace of irritation creeping into her voice. "And you just let them walk away like that?"
Her tone sharpened slightly as she turned toward him.
Talon continued watching the group's retreating figures until they had become little more than indistinct silhouettes in the distance.
"Anyone who's managed to survive outside these Sanctuaries, out there in the wastelands, for years isn't someone you provoke over a petty disagreement."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Especially not people like those."
As he spoke, he gestured casually toward the direction the group had taken. Then, without warning, he rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck, producing a series of crisp cracks from his joints. "Ahhh… That's the feeling."
His expression changed almost immediately. The earlier grin gave way to a look of deep satisfaction, as though the simple act of cracking his joints had brought him an intoxicating sense of relief.
"Damn, that feeling gets me every time."
He rolled his neck once more before finally turning toward Vanya. "Don't beat yourself up over something so trivial. I'll send one of my people to test them later. That way, we'll find out exactly what they've got that makes them think they can act so arrogantly on my turf."
His grin returned, carrying a distinctly predatory edge.
Vanya tilted her head slightly. "Are you sure that's a good idea? What if they turn out to be predators rather than prey?"
Talon's eyes narrowed faintly, but his smile only widened. "Don't worry. Everything will be handled carefully."
He then gave her a knowing look.
"Come on, Van. You shouldn't even have to ask me that. After all the time we've spent together, don't tell me you still haven't figured out how cautious I am."
Vanya studied him for a moment before shaking her head with a small smile. "Alright, alright, Boss Talon."
Her expression grew slightly more serious.
"Just make sure you know what you're doing."
At that, Talon burst into booming laughter, the sound echoing across the deserted stretch of road.
He didn't bother replying.
Instead, he turned and began following the path the newcomers had taken, walking at an unhurried pace as though he had all the time in the world.
The grin remained on his face.
Whatever he had planned, he clearly had no intention of letting the encounter end there.
Marco's group spent nearly half an hour wandering through the settlement's scattered, crudely constructed houses, taking in the eye-opening sights around them.
Since their goal was to keep a low profile for the time being, they needed to integrate into the settlement as quickly as possible. Understanding the people who lived here and learning how they operated would be the first step toward achieving that goal.
By the time they finished observing their surroundings, the streets that had initially appeared half-deserted were gradually coming to life.
More mutant humans emerged from their homes, their expressions cautious as they cautiously surveyed their surroundings before resuming their daily activities. Some moved between the crude buildings, while others lingered near their doorways, seemingly reluctant to venture too far into the open.
Steven, standing nearly 1.82 meters tall with a muscular frame, pale skin, and blackened vein-like markings that glowed faintly beneath his flesh, glanced at One.
He subtly gestured with one hand, signaling the boy to approach the nearby residents and gather some information.
Among their group, One appeared the least threatening. His relatively harmless appearance would make the locals less likely to regard him as a potential danger, increasing the chances that someone might be willing to answer his questions without becoming overly suspicious.
Having understood Steven's suggestion, a spark of interest immediately appeared in One's eyes.
He began carefully surveying the surrounding area, searching for someone who seemed approachable. After a short while, he spotted a family of three moving cautiously between the scattered buildings.
They appeared to be a suitable choice.
The family consisted of a tall, muscular yet lean man with an unremarkable face, weathered features, and a pair of wary eyes that constantly surveyed their surroundings.
Beside him was a thin, average-looking woman dressed in dirty, tattered clothing that reflected the harsh circumstances in which the family lived. Despite her unremarkable appearance, her sharp eyes betrayed survival instincts honed through years of hardship and constant struggle.
The last member of the family was a teenage girl, seemingly around sixteen years old. Her eyes carried the same sharp, cautious glint as those of her parents, and she appeared to be doing her best to remain unnoticed while staying close to them.
All three wore dirt-covered, rugged clothing, a clear testament to the relentless hardships they had endured simply to survive in this ruthlessly hostile world.
With a friendly expression on his face, One approached them at an unhurried pace.
However, before he could get close enough to speak, the father seemed to notice his approach. His body immediately stiffened, and his wary gaze locked onto the approaching boy.
"That distance is far enough, kid," he barked. "Take another step, and I'll have no choice but to act. Don't make me repeat myself."
As he spoke, the muscles in his arms shifted unnaturally. Strange, dark green scales rapidly spread across his forearms, covering his skin as he clenched his fists.
A series of faint cracking sounds followed, accompanied by the unsettling sound of bones tightening and shifting beneath his flesh. His arms seemed to grow denser as he prepared himself for a fight.
His posture made his intentions unmistakably clear.
If One dared to take even a single step closer, the man would attack without hesitation.
Beside him, the man's wife and daughter remained completely silent. Neither attempted to intervene, but the tension in their bodies betrayed their unease. Their brows furrowed slightly, and their hands clenched into fists, revealing the worry they were trying to conceal.
Even without saying a word, both women maintained guarded postures, ready to react should the situation take a turn for the worse.
The family of three clearly understood the rules of survival in this unforgiving world. Although they were relatively weak, they were far from defenseless and remained prepared to deal with whatever situation might arise.
One maintained his friendly smile, showing no signs of being intimidated by the man's threatening display.
"There's no need to be so aggressive," he said calmly. "I understand why you're being so vigilant and cautious. In a place like this, it's only natural to be wary of strangers. However, I still had to approach you because I need some advice from the people who live here. There's no need to panic. I come in peace."
He paused briefly to collect his thoughts before continuing.
"My family and I are newcomers. We only recently arrived at this settlement, and we'd like to understand the major rules governing this place. After all, nobody wants to end up dead simply because they accidentally broke some obscure rule they knew nothing about. That would be a truly tragic way to die, wouldn't it? So, as far as I'm concerned, ignorance isn't an excuse we can afford."
Hearing the young boy's explanation, the father's eyes narrowed slightly.
He studied One in silence, seemingly weighing the boy's words against his instincts. After a prolonged moment of hesitation and internal conflict, he finally spoke in a low, cautious voice.
"Rules, you say, eh, boy? Very well. I'll tell you. Since your group is new here and intends to settle down, you'd better listen carefully."
His expression grew solemn as he began explaining.
"This Sanctuary is under the iron-fisted rule of a mutant human known as the Heat Emperor. He's practically a god in this place, the one responsible for protecting this Sanctuary and ensuring its continued survival."
One tilted his head slightly, a hint of confusion appearing in his eyes.
However, before he could ask anything, the father continued, subtly gesturing toward the surrounding settlement.
"Here in this Sanctuary, every family, group, and even temporary partnership is required to provide abomination heads every week. The stronger the abomination you've killed, the higher your social standing and position in the hierarchy."
He paused briefly, allowing One to absorb the information before continuing.
"It doesn't matter how you obtain those heads. You can hunt the abominations yourself, steal them from someone else, or even snatch them from another group. The Heat Emperor doesn't care about the details. All he cares about is that you pay your weekly head tax."
His expression darkened.
"And don't think you can get away with ignoring this rule. It doesn't matter how high your standing is in the Sanctuary or how powerful you believe yourself to be. Anyone who dares to disobey will lose the right to continue living here."
He lowered his voice slightly, making the threat behind his words even more apparent.
"Once that happens, you'll become the Heat Emperor's property."
The father paused, allowing those words to sink in before resuming his explanation.
"Of course, there are weaker residents who simply aren't capable of hunting down an abomination on their own. That's where the Sanctuary's bounty hunters come in. They'll hunt the abominations for you and provide the heads your family needs to meet its weekly quota."
He glanced briefly at One before adding, "Naturally, they won't do it for free. You'll have to pay them in Blood Coins."
One's eyes flickered slightly upon hearing the familiar term.
He had heard Steven and Brant discuss Blood Coins on numerous occasions, particularly their uses, effects, and immense value.
Blood Coins were created by extracting a portion of a mutant human's own blood essence and compressing it into a coin. These coins could then be used to strengthen certain mutant abilities, making them valuable resources in a world where power often determined one's chances of survival.
However, their creation came with significant limitations.
A mutant could only convert a small amount of their blood essence into Blood Coins each week. Even producing that little could leave the creator feeling exhausted and visibly pale. The amount of essence they were capable of supplying could also affect the quality and potency of the resulting coins.
Thinking about this, One couldn't help wondering how Blood Coins would compare to the strengthening serums he had developed.
Would their effects be comparable, or would his serums prove superior?
There was another peculiar aspect of the Blood Coin system that made it particularly difficult to exploit.
Although Blood Coins were precious and potent, their creation couldn't be forced. A mutant had to willingly use their own abilities and powers to compress their blood essence into a functional coin.
In other words, no one could cheat the system.
Even if someone kidnapped a weaker mutant and tortured them into producing Blood Coins, the results would be useless. Without the creator's genuine willingness, the coins would lack their intended properties and become nothing more than worthless objects. The victim could be forced to continue until exhaustion eventually claimed their life, yet not a single functional coin would be produced.
For this reason, most Sanctuaries strictly prohibited the capture and torture of weaker mutants for Blood Coin production. Such practices served no practical purpose, as unwilling victims could only produce useless coins regardless of how much suffering they endured.
It was a cruel, pointless endeavor that offered no meaningful reward.
The Blood Coin system therefore left little room for anyone to establish a monopoly through coercion. Even if someone captured an entire group of mutants and tortured every last one of them to death, they wouldn't obtain a single usable coin if their captives refused to cooperate.
And One was quite certain that many mutants would refuse.
Anyone who had survived the Inkforce mutation had already endured horrors that ordinary people could scarcely imagine. Such individuals possessed a degree of mental fortitude that most people would struggle to comprehend.
Faced with the choice between death and helping their captors grow stronger, many would rather die than provide their tormentors with even the slightest benefit.
After all, they understood that the coins produced through forced extraction would be worthless anyway.
Why endure endless suffering for an outcome that could never benefit their captors?
To One, the Blood Coin system was an intriguing mechanism. It placed a fundamental limitation on the exploitation of weaker mutants, ensuring that no amount of physical force could replace the willingness required to produce something truly valuable.