The Last Founder

Chapter 76: Narakar: City of Survival

"Kind?" he said, confusedly, as if looking at an idiot, "Kindness? In this city? Are you crazy? The only kind people in this city are the dead. Look at the city you are in before stating such naive things, boy. They only show kindness to those they wish to manipulate, you fool."

Hundao shrank back. Of course, he knew the kind of city he was born in, but his very existence seemed to oppose its entire belief system.

This city was called Narakar City, a place that stood apart from every other city in the realm. Its differences weren’t just in appearance or location, but in the very way its people lived and survived. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

While other cities grew and prospered through trade, farming, or building new industries, Narakar’s survival came at its own expense. The land surrounding the city had lost its fertility long ago, withered by centuries of overuse. Nothing grew easily, and the earth no longer yielded valuable minerals or herbs. People struggled to find enough food, and even basic resources became treasures to be fought over.

Because Narakar could not provide for everyone, even the simplest things, like a loaf of bread or a handful of healing herbs, became rare and precious. People had to compete for every resource, no matter how small. Scarcity wasn’t just a problem that came and went; it was the very core of life in Narakar, shaping every decision and relationship.

The story of how Narakar began only made its reputation darker. Before anyone living could remember, a group of fanatics settled here to perform a ritual meant to bring an evil god back to life. Although they failed, their actions left lasting scars on the city and its people.

The altar they built for their ritual still stood, stained by the memory of many sacrifices. Stories about Narakar’s cursed beginnings spread everywhere, making people afraid to visit or stay. By now, it didn’t matter if every rumor was true. The city’s reputation kept most outsiders away.

After centuries of being cut off and struggling to survive, the people of Narakar changed. In other cities, neighbors might become friends and families would help each other during tough times. But in Narakar, this way of living was almost impossible. Everyone had to look out for themselves.

Every new person meant more competition for the little that was left. Showing kindness or trusting others could make you vulnerable, even put you in danger. People learned to always think about whether helping someone else might hurt their own chances of survival.

This way of thinking shaped Narakar’s most important tradition.

As soon as a child turned ten, their childhood was over.

At this age, children were declared adults and sent to the Arena of Ascension. This arena, built around the old altar, was where every young person had to fight in a huge tournament. They battled each other in rounds, much like a sports competition, but with far greater risks.

Each match only ended when one fighter gave up or lost their life. Showing mercy was allowed, but almost nobody expected it. Winning wasn’t just about personal pride, it could bring better opportunities for your whole family. Losing, however, often meant your family would suffer for years to come.

The results of these fights decided who had power and respect in the city. Families did not inherit their status; they earned it through their children’s success in the arena.

The families that won gained wealth, land, and influence, while those who lost slowly became poor. Every generation, the order of families changed based on the newest results. No one could feel truly safe in their position for long.

This system worked exactly as those early founders wanted.

It turned every family into both a rival and a judge of others, always measuring themselves against their neighbors.

Parents raised their children not merely to survive but to triumph over the sons and daughters of those living beside them. Friendships became fragile, forever shadowed by the knowledge that today’s companion might become tomorrow’s opponent.

Neighbors might smile and act friendly, but they were always sizing each other up, thinking about strengths and weaknesses. Every child was seen as a possible threat to their own family’s future. Politeness covered up a constant competition.

The city didn’t just use up its resources.

It used up trust, too.

Even happy events felt tense. When one family celebrated a win, it usually meant another family was starting to lose everything. Sadness was normal, but people kept it hidden at home. If you showed you were struggling, others might try to take advantage of you.

In Narakar, it wasn’t kindness or honor that helped you survive. Success came to those who were ready to give up anything to improve life for their family.

People from other places thought Narakar was cursed because of its dark history. But the real problem wasn’t something hidden underground; the true curse was not buried beneath the arena. It was woven into the hearts of those who called Narakar home.

Hundao had it a little worse than others from several families in the city because his father was once part of a family that had reached the pinnacle of nobility but was ruthlessly schemed against, leaving him to lose everything from his younger years.

This has made him the ruthless man he is now, uncaring and calculating, always seeking to use others to achieve his goals. In his eyes, there was no difference between a street dog and other humans. In this city, if a stray dog dares to show itself, it would be devoured by those hungry fiends.

This man has placed great significance on Hundao, seeking to groom him into a tool for his ascention to a status he once held.

"Hmm, it would seem we need to take some desperate actions. What is done is done, but we can still succeed if we are desperate enough." His father said in a suggestive tone.

Hundao looked on in horror, knowing what was to come.

"Since you are so close to that brat and even consider him a friend worth dying for, you should be close enough to lower his guard, too, right...?" The man continued with a sinister voice.

’No, not again..." This was the part he didn’t wish to remember so desperately. In a city like this, all is fair. Defeating an enemy in the arena doesn’t mean total victory. You also have to guard against their schemes; otherwise, you wouldn’t realize you are dead until the lights are out.

"You seem reluctant to do it?" The man said, seeing a look in Hundao’s face he hadn’t beaten into him yet. He never taught the boy how to think for himself or have the necessary will to reject his authority, and he couldn’t help but wonder where he got it from. ’It must be from that filth with lesser genes, how disgraceful.’

This lesser gene, he believes, came from Hundao’s mother, whom he killed with his own hands shortly after the birth of his prized possession, Hundao. ’To think that such filth would still have influence on him, how truly disgusting. No matter how hard you try to clean up such filth, it still manages to linger.’

"Tell me, would you do it, or should I just toss you out in the streets to die?"

Hundao felt his world collapsing. He never imagined coming back here, even in a dream; he had thought that escaping this city would mean escaping the memories and pain he endured, but it seems he couldn’t truly escape his past, nor could he escape the pain he was feeling right now.

Without answering, the scene blurred strangely, Hundao’s eyes flew open, his pupils unfocused as the world around him dissolved into a swirling blur of shadows and muted colors. His ears rang violently, drowning out every other sound, while his heartbeat pounded so hard against his chest that it felt as though it would burst free.

It took several long breaths before his vision finally steadied, revealing a narrow alleyway hemmed in by towering stone walls darkened by years of moisture and neglect. Thin streams of filthy water crept through cracks in the uneven pavement, carrying scraps of refuse toward the drains, while the stale air hung heavy with the odors of damp stone, decaying waste, and something far more suffocating. The unmistakable metallic scent of fresh blood filled every breath he took.

’No, no, no, no, I didn’t get to make that choice again.’ A look of despair rose from his features.

His trembling fingers instinctively tightened around the object in his hand before he finally looked down. It was a crude knife fashioned from chipped gray stone, its edge lined with jagged teeth that looked more suited for tearing flesh than cutting it cleanly. Thick crimson droplets clung stubbornly to the uneven blade before slipping free one after another, striking the cobblestones with soft, rhythmic taps that echoed through the deserted alley. It was a scene he was intimate with and the source of his nightmares. frёewebηovel.cѳm

A cold numbness spread through his arm as his gaze followed the trail of blood staining the ground. Only a few paces away lay the body of a child, no older than himself. His clothes were soaked through with crimson, his small body twisted awkwardly against the wall, and his vacant eyes remained fixed upon the sliver of darkening sky visible between the rooftops. Wisps of warmth still rose from the pooling blood beneath him.

Hundao’s breathing caught in his throat.

"...Ren?"

The name escaped as a whisper so faint that even he barely heard it. His knees weakened beneath him as memories crashed into his mind without warning. They had stolen fruits together from market stalls when their hunger became unbearable. They had raced through Narakar’s winding streets, laughing whenever they managed to outrun the adults chasing them.

They had shared dreams that only children foolish enough to believe in tomorrow could have. On countless nights, they had sworn they would survive the city’s tournament together, leave Narakar behind, and find somewhere beyond its cursed walls where people did not have to kill their friends to earn the right to live. This was his friend, this was the only light in his life, and he snuffed it with his own hands.

The knife slipped from his hand and clattered against the stone. The sharp sound broke whatever fragile hope remained within him. He staggered backward until his shoulders struck the wall, but even the jolt of pain barely registered to him.

His eyes remained locked on the motionless boy before him, refusing to accept what they were seeing. He wanted Ren to move, to groan, to complain about the pain. To laugh and tell him it had all been a cruel joke. Instead, the alley remained deathly silent, broken only by the slow dripping of blood onto stone.

His gaze drifted toward his own hands. They were stained a deep crimson, the blood already beginning to dry within the creases of his fingers. A violent shudder ran through his body as nausea twisted his stomach. He bent forward, retching until tears streamed uncontrollably down his face, yet nothing could wash away the warmth he still imagined clinging to his palms.

His memories felt jumbled together at the moment. ’Something is wrong with me.’

Slowly, Hundao slid down the cold wall until he sat upon the damp stones, drawing his knees tightly against his chest. Somewhere beyond the alley, the city carried on as though nothing had happened. Merchants closed their stalls, families prepared their evening meals, and the arena no doubt welcomed its next pair of children.

In Narakar, this was not a tragedy. It was tradition. The city had taught every child that survival demanded sacrifice, that another family’s loss was one’s own gain, and that friendship lasted only until the tournament brackets were drawn. As the weight of this truth he tried so much to deny settled upon him, something inside Hundao quietly broke.

’If... If I don’t wake up, it’s just four years, and I will have enough power to escape this city.’ He consolled himeslf, ’Escape, no...’ A mad chuckle escaped his lips, ’ I will change this city, I will break this city and if that doesn’t work, I will bury this city.’

Hundao...

Lost sight of his purpose.