Background:

Thousands of years ago, the goddess created forty angels, devils, and three holy dragons to control and protect the world. However, these created angels and devils jointly sealed their goddesses for some reason.

In a wars-filled mainland called The Continent of Sorrow, a skinny beggar who is struggling in the abyss of hunger and pain gradually changes the fate of himself and also the entire continent...

Our story's starting point was a gloomy and grime-clad town, Senag.

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Senag, a spot of a poor country, yet seemed like a shrunken version of the world itself. 

Moreover, here, the world's essence was refined well.

The elite reveled in wealth and prosperity, shielded in mansions with an abundance of staff, decent meals, and beds warmed by the finest linens. 

Meanwhile, for those who lack riches or powers, existence was no better than that of strays or insects. Generally, they were deemed even less significant than refuse, struggling in broken alleys with thrown food remains to live.

The rich would often gaze down upon these unfortunate beings, labeling them as destitute or criminals with all notions of law and the so-called morality that were defined by big shots and benefitted most to them instead of the poor and civilians.

...

On that day, a skinny figure hid in the murky shadows of a broken alley, his refuge, as usual. His gaze, cold and lack of compassion, casually swept across the passersby, identifying his next prey. 

Clutched in his small arms was a knife, its blade mercilessly sharp.

The youth, barely ten, with untidy black hair that nearly cloaked his face, leaving only a pair of frozen eyes visible— so piercing, sending a chill to anyone who caught a glimpse.

He was dressed in clothes that were as dirty and worn as his hands just with the circumstance of a beggar deserved. 

His young face was prematurely filled with the lines of hardship, displaying cruelty and resilience no child in a normal condition should ever need. The once-innocent eyes were hardened much long before, only gleaming with a mix of urge, malice, and aggression.

He greedily observed each individual who passed him, his eyes sharpening when they were with on any form of wealth—cash, watches, and jewelry. They were all potential targets for his hunting goals.

The rumble and roar of his hunger strengthened, transforming his gaze into one that was all the more piercing and frigid as the pain of hunger tore his stomach off violently.

Then, He was no longer a mere ten-year-old child or a normal beggar, but just a greedy wolf.

All notions of law and morality that couldn't satisfy his hunger were just trash and were cast aside by him, used as twisted justifications only by the powerful to oppress him, and utterly useless in satisfying his hunger.

Waiting long for selecting his target, he observed patiently these passersby around him. He was just ten, most of the preies in the street were too strong and dangerous for him to hunt.

Finally, after a long time, his appropriate prey appeared — a plump woman in her forties, dressed in decent attire, casually watching the wares in front of a grocery store. 

As she finally selected her items and pulled out her wallet to pay, the boy took his action.

With the swiftness of a striking viper, he lunged at the woman, snatched the wallet from her grasp, and rushed away. However, he was only ten, and too hungry and weak to escape successfully.

The woman, taken aback, quickly recovered her mind and raised an alarm with piercing cries for help.

A soldier nearby aimed at the commotion with a sinister grin showed on his face and arrested the young thief soon. His mocking laughter, jointed with malice, cut through the air as his hand delivered a sharp slap across the boy's cheek, making a loud and clear slap sound and leaving a red mark on his cheek.

The force of the blow got the boy down on the ground, his cheek throbbing with pain. Passersby looked away from him, and their faces were full of fear and pity.

"Dirty boy, stealing? You've got a death wish, don't you?" he sneered.

But the boy didn't shrink. Hidden beneath his dirty hair, his eyes burned not with fear, but with resentment for blocking his survival.

Without hesitation, he drew a small knife and stabbed at the soldier's thigh. The soldier yelped, releasing his grip as his hand came away bloody. When he looked up again, the boy had disappeared.

...

The dark corners of the town were where the boy hid, catching his breath and looking around for signs that someone was chasing him. Feeling safe, he cleaned the knife, now covered in blood, on his torn clothes and hid it away.

Now, it was time to check his gain.

With his eager hands, he tremblingly opened the stolen wallet with excitement, however, only to be met with disappointment — a useless magic crystal card. 

In anger, he snapped it, the potential wealth that represented was definitely unavailable without the owner's identity to unlock it. Even if there were 1 million gold coins in that card, it meant nothing to the beggar.

His failed hunt made his hunger and pain cry more loudly, signifying the gradually coming steps of the grim Reaper towards him.

He threw the wallet aside, resting to gather strength for the next hunt, also the final chance to survive before he was fully exhausted and couldn't hunt for prey.

...

Alone in the world, he'd come to know the truth: money was the barrier between life and starvation. In this ruthless game of survival, one had to be swift and ruthless.

The knife, a discarded piece of trash, now served as proof of his resolve for survival.

It had known the blood of those like him, of careless victims, and even of soldiers. Though still a teenager, he had not yet taken a life. 

However, with each year's passing, he moved closer to that inevitability.

Grasping the knife, he was ready to face any matters for the sake of survival. As daylight declined, his search continued.

Soldiers, now in crowds, captured other criminals, delivering swift and brutal justice — chopping "bad guys" hands to threaten and scare others. The boy had seen such horrors more times than he could count.

He looked for his next prey with patience and caution, recalling the bloody lessons of his peers.

'When the sun moves lower, there are more soldiers." 

"No gain means hunger, enduring the cold, and facing the coming of freezing nights without enough preparation — a sign of death."

Sunlight waned, the presence of soldiers thickened, and the boy still hadn't found food or money.

A day without a successful plunder was a day trapped in danger.

A cold night creeping closer, the boy now was pretty close to death from starvation.

As night approached, snowflakes began to descend, each seemed gentle and soft, a delicate contrast to the harsh world below.

The skinny boy, dressed in thin clothes against the chill, his eyes finally fixed on his aimed target across the street — the food from a bakery.

From his hidden place, he watched. The door of the bakery opened, and the scent of fresh bread floated through the air, a cruel tease and temptation to his humble life.

In the warm bakery, the baker smiled at a customer, farewelling him off the bakery. His plump hands wiped his apron. 

Meanwhile, the baker and custom were both unaware that there was a hungry gaze fixed upon him coldly.

Surrounded by the stillness of falling snow, the boy readied. The next steps were not just for bread — they were a fight against starvation for survival.

Snow descending from the darkening sky more heavily, each flake a reminder of death.

The beggar watched, his hands cold, his eyes without warmth, ready to do whatever it took to satisfy the beast within.

The little beggar sneered, sliding the small knife from his pocket as he tailed the customer. His eyes stared at the man's paper bag laden with bread and the wallet at his waist.

The boy's shape was lean, an extreme contrast to the man's. Therefore, overwhelming him for the loaf would demand a sudden quick strike with ruthlessness and accuracy, which is definitely tough work for the skinny boy.

However, he wouldn't abandon the last chance of his survival anyway, following the man secretly with a dark and strong determination blooming.

Walking through the path covered with deep snow that turned everything icy, the man pulled his coat tighter and took big bites of the bread he had just gotten, enjoy the chewing of this soft and sweet bread.

Then, that's the period he focused less on other matters around.

The boy's eyes got tougher, and his hand gripped the knife suddently.

They went into a deserted alley. This was it — the boy launched at the man's back with the blade.

"Thud!"

The sound was muffled as the knife buried itself. A wave of triumph washed over the boy, but it was short-lived. The man was stricken and his bread was just like corpse lying on the ground.

He turned to the boy. His face was in horror and resentment, facing the knife-wielding boy and feeling blood. He snatched a stick nearby and tried to hit the beggar ruthlessly.

Clearly, the boy's blunt knife had barely hit the man through his thick coat.

Breathing hard, the poor boy moved quickly to avoid the hit. Facing an adult with the stick, the boy knew that he couldn't win and getting caught would mean his end.

He started to run on instinct, but he stopped for a second. His survival hung on the pieces of bread on the ground. With a burst of desperate bravery, he grabbed a piece of bread successfully when dodging the man's attack and then ran away toward the easily-lost alley that he was familiar, disappearing into the night's freezing darkness.

The boy's escape was accompanied by a mix of blood and fear. Now, hunger and fear were battling inside him. In this harsh world, to keep living meant he had to keep stealing or commiting other criminals.

…

Holding the bread with snow, the boy slipped into the alley's shadows. Night covered the city, snowflakes growing thicker. He held his breath, listening. Safety was certain only when there was no sign of chasing.

He fell into the snow, feeling less tense. The night was his refuge now. He went back deep into the alley, resting against trash cans. Here, dirt reigned, promising him isolation for his feast.

The bread was like a stone to his frozen touch. It didn't matter. He was ready to bite it.

But then — a baby's cry broke the quiet! Like a beast protecting its kill, the boy hid the bread under his coat, eyes, and ears sharpening, searching for the cry's source.

A shape hid further in the alley. A woman, by the sounds of her soft voice, young but full of sorrow as thick as the surrounding night.

The beggar watched, the bread was now his everything. Any challenge and his blade would answer.

As the standoff lasted, it seemed to be clear that she was of no threat. Absorbed in comforting her child, the baby's weeping was a weight she could not shed.

He turned away with indifference. In these hard times, death was common on the streets.

Self-preservation was the law for the poor; why should he have cared for other living? 

He bit into his bread, its crack echoing in the silence, his heart as cold as the snow that covered the world in a frozen shroud.

His mouth watered at the thought of eating the bread slowly, treasuring it like it was something precious. He opened his mouth to take another bite.

"Waaaah…! Waaaah…!"

The baby's crying grew louder and louder, breaking the quiet more and more. His hand, ready to bring food to his mouth, stopped in the air.

He looked over at the woman. Her face showed more and more worry as she tried to calm the baby, but her efforts didn't work as the baby's crying got even louder, refusing to stop.

The boy's eyes moved from the woman to the baby and then to the bread he was holding.

The bread was very small, not much bigger than his young hand. Eating it all would have only kept his hunger away for a short time.

But if just gave away a little piece…

...

No!!! Of course not!

He shook his head and turned his back on the woman and the crying baby, feeling confused and ridiculous about the thought that just jumped out of his mind.

Since no one ever did similar things to him, why should he do that to a stranger? 

With a heart made tough by hard times, he bit into the bread greedily and eagerly.

"Waaaah…! Waah… Waaaah…"

The bread tasted strangely sweet even if it was as hard as a cold rock . 

But after he took one bite, the crying behind him started to quiet down gradually. The woman's voice, full of panic, sounded more worried.

He swallowed the bite. But before he could enjoy another bite, he suddenly felt he couldn't resist looking at the woman again. 

Was that for his curiosities or for anything too strange to describe? He couldn't figure it out.

Anyway, he turned back and glanced.

She looked very scared, and the baby's crying was now weak…

The boy looked at his bread again, then moved his sights to the worried woman and her sick child…Struggling

Finally, the boy still chose to turn away, sitting firmly in the corner, holding the small piece of bread.

He kept telling himself: the world was just cold like this. He could only rely on himself without the energy and ability to care for others! 

If you were hungry, it wasn't because others weren't kind, but because you didn't rob, steal, or lie well enough!

Who had ever given him food or comfort when he needed it?

No one, no one at all!

Since the woman needed food, then she just ought to trick others for her intention. 

This was the way he always lived since he had a memory, this was all he saw and knew! 

He saw the world clearly and knew it deeply— it wasn't a place for those who wanted to help others, especially for the poor!

The baby's crying stopped. The boy's mouth twisted into a mean smile as he bit into the bread again.

The bread was still sweet. The crust was still crunchy, and it felt good to eat. But why didn't this bite feel as good as the first for him?

Confused, he looked at the bread in his hand. More than half was left. 

Behind him, the baby's cries just had… stopped.