The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 88

Chapter 88: To Survive (3)
Nine years later, they lived in the squalor of the Downward District in the state of Olzar, far removed from the opulence of Aloxus.

This town, tucked away in obscurity, was the only place Meloris could escape to. Here, she returned to the life she had once fled, her occupation as a courtesan both her curse and her lifeline.

Their living conditions were wretched. A single, cramped chamber in the brothel served as their home.

Argider slept on a threadbare mat in the corner, his childhood stained by the murmurs and glances of clients and workers alike.

Outside, the cruelty of the world only deepened.

“Ha! Your mother’s a whore! Your mother’s a whore!”

“Yeah, and look at him! He looks like one too!”

The taunts came from a group of boys in a narrow, filthy alleyway.

Argider stood frozen, his long hair framing a delicate face too pretty for a boy, his malnourished frame trembling.

The truth of their words was a blade he couldn’t deflect.

“I…” He tried to speak but couldn’t. His voice broke as he clutched the hem of his patched shirt.

A shove sent him sprawling onto the ground, the rough cobblestones scraping his palms.

He clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as a wave of anger surged through him.

Without thinking, he launched himself at the nearest boy, fists flying. His punches were frantic, fueled by desperation rather than strength.

“H-Hey!” the boy cried, flailing under Argider’s assault.

But the others quickly retaliated. Rough hands yanked his hair, dragging him back with a painful jerk.

Argider screamed, his voice raw with pain, as he was thrown to the ground again.

This time, they didn’t hold back. Kicks and punches rained down on him, leaving him bruised and battered.

By the time he limped home, his face and body were a patchwork of swelling and cuts. Meloris was horrified when she saw him.

She gently examined his injuries, her hands trembling with anger.

The next morning, the boys’ parents marched to her, Argider trailing behind her.

“Your sons attacked my boy,” one of the women began, her voice steady but laced with fury.

“We are sorry,” Meloris replied, bowing her head.

The crowd that had gathered murmured in agreement. No one defended her. Why would they? To them, she was nothing more than a stain on society.

“Hah! That whore really has no shame…” one of the men muttered, loud enough for Argider to hear.

Their words sank deep into him. He clenched his fists, his young mind burning with infectious fire.

It was at that moment he decided: ignorance was the true evil of the world.

People judged without understanding, condemned without knowing. All because he was a whore’s son.

Yet his anger wasn’t solely for them.

It burned for his mother too.

Why did she bow? Why did she apologize when they had nothing left to give? Her constant need to please others, to maintain a shred of dignity in their eyes, infuriated him.

Then, Meloris scolded him. “Bow your head. Show respect,” she snapped, her face drawn with frustration.

Argider obeyed silently, his resentment simmering. What did his words matter? She never listened.

All she cared about was surviving by playing their game.

He looked at her, the woman he should have loved most, and felt nothing but hate.

She was the reason for his suffering. Her choices had shackled him to a life of deprivation and scorn.

And in his young heart, a bitter truth took root: he would never forgive her.

The streets of the Downward District were a labyrinth of desperation, where survival often meant abandoning morality.

Argider learned this the hard way. Hunger went at his belly daily, and his bruised pride stung more than the cuts and scrapes on his body.

Watching Meloris work herself to exhaustion only to come home with meager coins wasn’t just painful – it was infuriating.

He was tired of being pitied, of being mocked, of having nothing.

It started with bread. He had been staring at a baker’s stall for what felt like hours, his mouth watering as the scent of fresh loaves wafted through the air.

The merchant turned his back, distracted by a haggling customer.

Argider darted forward, snatched a loaf, and ran. His heart hammered in his chest as he slipped into the shadows of a narrow alley, tearing into the bread with shaking hands.

That first theft awakened something in him, a sense of exhilaration and shame.

But shame was quickly drowned out by the realization that he had power, however small.

The next time, he planned it. Coins from a drunkard’s purse, fruit from an unwatched stall, trinkets left carelessly on a merchant’s car.

Argider became adept at slipping unseen into the crowd. His long hair and slight frame allowed him to blend in, his delicate features masking the selfish mind beneath.

At first, it was just for survival.

Bread, scraps of meat, or coins to buy secondhand shoes.

But as the weeks passed, it became more than necessity.

Each successful theft gave him a fleeting sense of control in a world where he had none.

The streets whispered to him, offering both danger and opportunity. Argider had chosen his path.

If the world denied him dignity, he would take what he needed.

Argider’s luck ran out one cold evening when he slipped into their shared room with a pocketful of stolen coins and a bruised wrist. He thought Meloris was still working, but the moment he closed the door, her sharp voice cut through the silence.

“Where have you been?”

His heart sank. She sat by the dimly lit table, her piercing eyes catching the glint of silver coins spilling from his pocket.

“What’s this?” she demanded, standing abruptly.

Argider was silent, guilt tightening his chest. “I… I was just helping someone,” he lied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Helping?” Meloris crossed the room, clearly disappointed. “By stealing?”

He flinched as she grabbed his hands, inspecting the dirt under his nails and the stolen coins.

Suddenly, her palm struck his hand. Once, then again.

The sharp sting brought tears to his eyes, but he bit his lip, refusing to cry out.

“Do you think this will save us? Stealing will only make things worse!” she scolded, her voice trembling.

“I just wanted to help…” Argider muttered, his head bowed.

“Help by being better, Argider,” she said, softer now. “Not by becoming them.”

The shame was unbearable.

Already ostracized and humiliated daily, Argider avoided conflict whenever possible, but now even his mother had turned on him.

Anxiety hunted his thoughts, making him feel smaller, weaker.

That night, he curled up on his mat, the bruises on his wrist aching.

He vowed to avoid trouble, to become invisible, to do anything but draw more attention to himself.

But deep down, he resented how the world left him no choices, no way out of the shadows he’d been born into.