Chapter 244
A harsh, guttural roar of frustration was building in Draco’s chest, ready to erupt.
But then, amidst the sea of despairing faces, a figure emerged that froze him.
A flash of recognition, sharp and unexpected as a physical blow, snapped Draco from his simmering rage.
‘Wait, isn’t that Syr?’
Observing her from their vantage point – the partial cover provided by the upper floors of a collapsed building – Draco’s plans shifted entirely.
Syr, was not an ordinary person; she was intrinsically connected to the goddess Freya and her powerful familia.
This connection implied a potential layer of protection, perhaps hidden guards or observers, that complicated any overt intervention on their part.
‘If Syr is here, is she protected? Are there eyes on this crowd that we don't see? Would our appearance help, or just draw more unwanted attention?’ he wondered.
The silence that fell over their small group was broken by Lyra, her voice low, mirroring the uncertainty they all felt.
“So what should we do now? We can’t exactly spend the rest of the day perched up here.” Her gaze flicked towards Kaguya, seeking consensus.
“True, we can’t stay indefinitely. But leaving them now… it would feel like abandonment. Knowing we stood by and did nothing, only to hear later…” She trailed off.
“Why don’t we request some backup from the Central Park? Maybe they have spare hands they can send to help manage the situation?” Dimitra suggested.
Draco immediately shot down the idea.
“I highly doubt that. We’re already severely understaffed across the city. Every Adventurer is stretched thin, dealing with the evilus fallout, patrols, fortifying defenses. Besides,” his gaze hardened slightly, looking down at the agitated crowd, “these people are desperate, scared, and frankly, quite hostile towards authority right now. I don’t think most Adventurers, stressed and tired as they are, would have the patience required to deal with this peacefully. It could easily escalate.”
Lyra sighed, running a hand through her hair.
“Ugh, you’re right. It’s a powder keg down there.” She chewed on her lip for a moment before proposing another course.
“Maybe… maybe we just watch? Stay hidden for a while, see what happens? If things stabilize, or if nothing worse occurs, we can move on. If it gets bad, then we decide?”
Draco considered it, weighing the options.
Forceful dispersal risked inciting violence they couldn't manage alone without backup.
Leaving felt wrong.
Requesting help was likely futile and possibly dangerous.
Observing... observing felt like the only viable middle ground that minimized risks while still allowing for potential intervention if absolutely necessary.
“Hmm, that might be the most sensible option,” he conceded.
“It’s either that, or try to scatter them, which would probably just make them even more enraged and scattered, making them easier targets.”
His companions nodded in reluctant agreement.
The previous tension and debate dissipated, replaced by a tense, shared silence as they settled in to observe the unfolding scene below.
………………………………………………………..
Down in the plaza, oblivious to the hidden eyes upon her, Syr was a small beacon of calm amidst the storm.
“Here you go, a nice hot meal to warm your belly,” she said, her voice surprisingly clear and carrying over the murmuring crowd, a gentle lilt softening the desperation around her.
She handed a steaming bowl of wheat gruel to a woman clutching a small child.
The simple warmth emanating from the bowl seemed to momentarily push back the chill of fear and uncertainty.
“Give me some too, please!” someone else pleaded, their voice thin with hunger.
“Hey, watch it! Don’t push!” another man yelled, stumbling as the press of bodies threatened to knock him over.
It was a chaotic ballet of raw need.
Many of those whose homes had been destroyed, left with nothing but the clothes on their backs, jostled and vied for a place at the front, driven by the primal urge to feed themselves and their families.
Yet, despite their unruly behavior, Syr remained unperturbed, her expression a picture of serene patience.
She met each face, no matter how demanding or weary, with the same sweet smile.
“Don’t worry,” she repeated, her strangely sonorous voice cutting through the noise again, not loud, but carrying an unexpected resonance that seemed to soothe the edges of their desperation. “There is plenty to go around.”
Her appearance was unassuming yet striking in its simple grace.
Her eyes and hair, both a soft, light grey hue, seemed to absorb the harsh light of the damaged city and reflect it back gently.
She wore a practical dress layered with a purple caplet, much like many young women of Orario, but there was an aura about her that set her apart.
Anyone who approached her received the same welcoming smile, the same quiet reassurance, along with their portion of the warm gruel.
There was a mysterious charm that naturally drew people to her, a soft pull that seemed to emanate from her very being.
Perhaps it was her connection to the goddess Freya, a subtle divine aura, or perhaps it was simply her own genuine, kindness radiating outward.
It was something observers found hard, perhaps even impossible, to clearly differentiate between.
Both explanations felt plausible, and the effect was undeniable.
Whispering from their perch, Kaguya expressed her astonishment.
“I can’t believe she’s handing out this much food. And she looks so young… where did she even get all of this supply?” Her disbelief was palpable, knowing the extreme scarcity gripping the city.
Draco, responded quietly.
“Well, she is an employee of a popular restaurant in the city, the Hostess of Fertility. It makes sense they’d have a decent supply, even now.”
“Oh, right. Still, it’s incredibly commendable,” Kaguya replied, her tone colored with respect. “Especially given how things are… you know what the city is like.” She knew intimately the extent of the crisis.
She and Lyra had crisscrossed large sections of Orario in their search for Ryuu, before fate had brought them into contact with Draco and Dimitra.
They had seen the empty storehouses, the long lines for meager rations, the visible signs of widespread hunger and privation.
Draco offered no further comment.
He knew all too well the dire state of supplies.
His own familia, the Bahamut Familia, had contributed so much of their reserves to the city’s relief efforts that even they now had to queue up with the general population for food rations at the makeshift camps.
They had given until it hurt, until their own stores were nearly depleted.
There was nothing more they could do in that regard.
Silently, they continued their vigil, watching as Syr continued her work.
As she distributed the food, her gaze lifted momentarily, spotting an elderly figure slowly making his way towards her through the thinning crowd.
When he reached her, the old man bowed his head, his shoulders shaking slightly.
“You don’t know how grateful we are…” he began, his voice thick with emotion, choking on the words as tears streamed freely down his weathered face. “…for you to give out your own food, when there is so little to go around for anyone.”
Syr’s smile softened further, her hand gently reaching out to pat his arm.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispered in her soft, soothing tone, her voice a balm against his sorrow.
“We all have to share and help each other out at a time like this. Besides, truth be told, these supplies came from the owner of the tavern I work at, the Hostess of Fertility.” She spoke the name clearly, a subtle, almost unconscious advertisement slipping naturally into her explanation. To emphasize the point, she even straightened slightly, striking a proud, albeit slightly awkward, pose with one hand placed on her chest.
Off to the side, partially obscured, stood another figure – an unsociable-looking cat girl in the distinctive green uniform of the tavern.
She was stirring a large pot of the gruel with a ladle, her expression a picture of utter reluctance, clearly performing the task grudgingly.
This was Anya, Syr’s colleague.
“If any of you are in need of help, or just a warm place to rest your head for a few hours, please feel free to stop by our tavern on the West Main Street,” Syr continued, extending the offer with genuine sincerity.
Despite the earnestness in her voice, the crowd seemed hesitant, even ill-inclined to believe her. How could they possibly fathom that a mere tavern could offer real help, real safety, in a city collapsing under the weight of evilus attacks and despair? Their faces, moments ago softened by the food, hardened with renewed skepticism.
“I… I appreciate you telling us that lie to make us feel better,” said a woman with wolf-like ears, her voice flat with resignation.
“We all know there is nowhere truly safe in Orario these days,” another civilian added bitterly, echoing the sentiment of many who had witnessed the city’s recent brutal defeats.
“Oh…” Syr paused, the bright light in her eyes dimming just a fraction as she registered their increased skepticism.
“It… it isn’t exactly a lie, but…” She trailed off, seeing their doubt deepen.
A small, almost imperceptible shrug.
“Oh well. As long as everyone is fed, that’s the most important thing right now,” she said, her smile, though perhaps a little less bright, refusing to vanish entirely.
“And maybe once your stomachs are full and warm, that warmth might just spread to your hearts and faces too. Anyway, is there anyone else in need of foo……?”
She didn't get to complete her sentence.
A sudden, loud, and angry voice ripped through the relative quiet of the plaza, interrupting her.
“Stop!”
All heads turned towards the newcomer.
A young man, his face ruddy and flushed, clearly intoxicated, came storming into the gathering, staggering slightly as he moved.
The strong, acrid smell of alcohol wafted from him, a stark contrast to the clean air and the faint scent of warm gruel.
“Stop this madness,” he slurred, waving a dismissive hand at Syr and the food.
“Why bother handing out food when we are all going to die anyway?” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped him.
“Hic! If we don’t starve, the evilus gonna get us instead! What’s the damn point?”
“That’s not true!” Syr denied instantly, her voice firm despite the man’s aggression.
“The city’s Adventurers are working very hard, risking their lives every day to make sure that you…”
“Shut it, wench!” the man roared, cutting her off with a vulgar epithet.
His eyes, bloodshot and angry, glare at her.
“The adventurers are losers! Didn’t we all see how the evilus made them look like a bunch of crybabies? Loki, Freya, Ganesha and many others…,” he spat, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, appealing to their shared trauma.
“All of them got their asses kicked! So what good are they gonna do for us? Nothing!”
From their hidden vantage point, Draco felt the familiar surge of protective anger from his companions.
Lyra’s hands clenched at her sides, Dimitra’s posture stiffened, ready to move, and Kaguya let out a low growl.
“Calm down, girls,” Draco whispered urgently, barely managing to restrain them from rushing out to maim the man.
The man’s words were a direct insult to everything they and their fellow adventurers had fought and suffered for.
The sacrifices, the injuries, the sheer, grinding effort they had put in... hearing it dismissed so casually, so cruelly, struck a raw nerve.
‘Good thing we didn’t actually request other adventurers come down here’ Draco thought grimly, watching his companions’ barely suppressed fury.
‘I can already imagine the absolute chaos that would have erupted if they had heard this’
As the man continued his drunken, despairing tirade, the other civilians in the plaza shared worried glances.
His words, harsh and soaked in alcohol though they were, resonated deeply with many.
They were trying their best to cling to any shred of hope, to not remember the brutal reality of the series of losses Orario had suffered, the sight of their vaunted heroes being pushed back, bloodied and defeated.
Now, this man was dragging those painful memories to the surface, forcing them to confront the fear they had tried to suppress.
All that remained in the spaces between his bitter words was a chill, encroaching air, colder than the evening breeze, that threatened to snatch away all the fragile warmth the small bowls of gruel had brought them moments before.
“I’m going to die… we’re all going to die,” the man’s voice grew quieter, the drunken anger giving way to a raw, aching despair.
“The Adventurers ain’t gonna save us. They sure as hell didn’t save my little sister…” His voice broke on the last words, his head dropping.
This personal confession, this raw wound of loss, sent ripples of shared grief and hopelessness through the assembly.
Before long, the initial spark of hope that Syr had ignited had been extinguished.
Most of the civilians had lowered their heads, their shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the ground, wallowing in the painful memories of what they had lost – loved ones, homes, their sense of security.
The plaza, moments ago a scene of chaotic hunger, became a tableau of quiet, collective despair.
Syr, however, seemed unaffected by the spreading gloom.
Instead of being drawn down by the man’s despair, she appeared lost in her own thoughts, her soft grey eyes distant for a moment.
“What to do?” she seemed to wonder aloud, a gentle finger tapping her chin, a thoughtful expression replacing her usual smile.
Dimitra, Lyra, and Kaguya watched with bated breath, utterly captivated.
They wondered how this, girl could possibly navigate her way out of this psychological quagmire, how she could counter such potent, infectious despair.
In the worst case, they were ready to abandon their hidden position and intervene, willing to risk worsening the situation by revealing their presence, simply to help her.
Then, a remarkable transformation occurred.
Syr’s pensive look vanished, replaced by an expression of sudden, radiant epiphany.
A wide, almost childlike grin spread across her face, her eyes lighting up with a strange, almost mischievous glee.
Her hands came together, clasped tightly in front of her, as if she’d just had the most wonderful, delightful idea.
“Ah,” she exclaimed suddenly, cutting through the somber silence of the plaza with startling cheerfulness.
“Then in that case, should we all just… kill ourselves right now?”
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