On the border of the Holy Kingdom lay a dirt-poor town called Ashstone Town.
Here, without the blessing of holy light, coal dust floated all day, and the poor never stopped sighing.
In the back alley of the town, on a garbage-strewn lot, a group of ragged children were playing tag.
“Come on, catch me!”
The children laughed harshly, darting around the lot like a flock of sparrows.
“Stupid Shirley, come catch us!”
In the middle, a thin little girl stumbled after them.
The girl had a scar on her face, running from her brow bone to her cheek, as if she’d been scratched by some beast.
This scar ruined her originally delicate features; the town kids all called her “Ugly Freak.”
“Come on, ugly freak, you still want to catch us?”
“You run slower than a turtle!”
A boy as fat as a little pig stood on a rock, hands on his hips, laughing loudly at her.
He was the mayor’s grandson, named Barton, the little bully among the kids.
“That’s right, nobody wants you, ugly freak. Even if you fell and died, no one would care!”
The other children joined in the jeering.
“I’m not…!”
“I’m not unwanted…”
The little girl surrounded in the middle, tears in her eyes, held her bruised leg and defended herself pitifully.
“You are unwanted!”
The fat little Barton shoved her down.
“It’s because you’re so ugly that your parents didn’t want you. They dumped you at the monastery door like trash!”
The girl fell hard into the mud, and beads of blood immediately seeped from her knee.
She looked at the mocking faces around her and curled up helplessly.
Just when she was about to break down, a lean figure jumped lightly down from an old locust tree nearby.
He was a boy about 12 or 13 years old.
He had dazzling golden hair like sunlight, and emerald eyes as clear as a mountain stream.
Even though he wore patched, tattered clothes, his handsome face couldn’t be hidden.
It looked like he had just been beaten—there was a bruise around his eye and a trace of dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
He was none other than the future Master of the Hall of Holy Light—Victor.
At that time, he was just a despised bastard in the town.
His mother was a nun at the monastery who had eloped, leaving behind a shameful son; his father was a drunken, lazy man.
He grew up like a weed in a corner of the town, left to fend for himself.
Victor ignored the arrogant children, walked straight to the crying girl, crouched down, and extended his equally dirty hand.
“Bullying again.”
Victor’s voice was cool, with a hint of the huskiness unique to young boys.
“Don’t you find it boring? In tag, you can’t make her be ‘it’ forever.”
Fat little Barton immediately flared up, pointing at Victor’s nose and cursing.
“What’s it to you?”
“You bastard!”
Victor didn’t get angry; he silently helped up the girl named Shirley, using his body to block those malicious stares.
“Let’s go, get some medicine. Your leg is bleeding.”
He completely acted as if Barton didn’t exist.
This extreme disregard infuriated the little bully Barton more than any insult.
“You dare ignore me?”
“You bastard whose mother ran off with another man, meddling in other people’s business!”
“Your dad is a drunk, your mom is a whore, your whole family is trash!”
That last sentence—like a heavy hammer—shattered the last bit of reason in Victor’s heart.
He whipped his head around, and in those emerald eyes, a frightening fire burned for the first time.
“What did you say?”
“I said it, so what?”
“Nobody-wants-you bastard!”
Barton, startled by his gaze, stepped back but still talked tough.
The next second, Victor, like an enraged wolf cub, charged and threw a punch hard into Barton’s fat face.
Blood splattered from his nose.
Barton covered his nose and screamed.
“Ouch!”
“My nose!”
“Beat him to death!”
A group of children swarmed in, punching and kicking Victor.
“Kill this bastard!”
Victor didn’t fight back; he just held Shirley tightly in his arms, letting fists and rocks hit him.
Only when the children tired of hitting and left cursing did Victor slowly get up from the ground.
His left eye was black and blue, nose blood mixed with muddy water covered his face, and his once handsome face was now a mess.
“Big brother!”
Shirley cried and tried to wipe the blood from his face.
Victor shook his head, desperately holding back his tears.
He stubbornly raised his head, watching their retreating backs, his fists clenched tightly in his sleeves, nails digging into his palms.
Shirley supported the boy who wasn’t much older than her, and the two limped toward the monastery.
The setting sun stretched their shadows long, two lonely souls leaning on each other in the dilapidated town.
“Thank you, big brother.”
Shirley said softly.
“What’s your name?”
Victor lowered his head, looking at his bruised hands, and said sullenly, “My name is Victor. And you?”
“My name is Shirley.”
The little girl wiped her tears and said with a smile, “The monastery’s head sister said that at my age, I should make more friends and go out and play more. That’s why I wanted to play with them, but they…”
Victor suddenly stopped, interrupting her harshly.
“Idiot.”
“Huh?”
Victor turned his head, looked at the scar on Shirley’s face, and a flicker of pity crossed his eyes.
“They’re not friends. Friends don’t point at your face and call you ugly freak. Friends don’t watch you fall and not help you up. They’re just a bunch of bullies who pick on the weak.”
“Mm-hmm, I understand.”
Shirley nodded vigorously, then revealed a bright smile.
“But now my friend has appeared, right? Brother Victor?”
Victor’s body stiffened suddenly.
“Friend?”
That word was like a beam of light, shining into his dark, damp childhood.
Growing up, because of his mother’s scandal and his father’s laziness, no one wanted to play with him.
Everyone called him bastard, half-breed.
This was the first time someone looked at him with such clear eyes and said they wanted to be his friend.
He turned away, his ears slightly red, hiding his excitement.
“I just saw your leg was hurt, and besides, I already didn’t like them. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Hehe, Brother Victor is so nice.”
Shirley hopped, pulling her wound, and winced in pain.
“Couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it!”
Victor instinctively wanted to support her, but seeing her in pain, he immediately turned serious.
“Idiot, your leg is still hurt! Don’t move around!”
He carefully held Shirley’s arm, letting her lean most of her weight on him.
“Then…”
Shirley looked up, her gaze sincere.
“Brother Victor. Can you be my friend?”
Victor’s footsteps halted.
He lowered his head and looked into the girl’s clear eyes.
There was no disdain for his background, only pure dependence and trust.
At that moment, Victor’s heart felt as if a warm hand was gently grasping it.
He took a deep breath, and a particularly serious expression appeared on his face.
He reached out and gently ruffled the girl’s messy hair, his movements clumsy but gentle.
“Okay.”
Victor’s voice was soft, but it was as if he was making an oath.
“I, Victor, am making you my friend.”
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