Unknowingly, Sal turned into a nearby alley where three people were huddled under the patchy shelter of an old, metal awning that decorated the entrance of a camp.
With dense dark eye circles, yellow where the whites should be, and a pale complexion, they looked sickly. Sparing them a glance, Sal thought they were suffering from jaundice. Then, he went on his way, not planning to loot them. They looked sickly and almost as poor as him. Sal didn't think he would get much from lotting them. He should find a better target!
The metal awning gave the three men quite a shelter from the harsh winds blowing through the refugee camp.
They stood with their backs to the graffiti-covered door and wall of their camp and were smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. As they blew out the smoke they inhaled from the cigarettes, it curled up into the damp air.
Sal walked without the stealth and gait of a grandmaster. His footsteps were audible. When they heard the sound of footsteps, they raised their heads to see who it was, only to see Sal.
Their eyes widened and their cigarettes almost slipped out from between their fingers.
Seeing him alive and up on his feet gave them the shock of their lives.
"H-He is alive?"
"How can he be alive?!"
Yesterday, they had watched Big Joe and his henchmen beat Sal D. Douglas half to death.
When he was getting beaten, they didn't dare to intervene or speak up to break the fight because they didn't want to get in trouble with a spiritual combatant themselves.
The beating Sal had received was harsh enough to claim lives.
They thought Sal would succumb to his injuries.
But here he was now, walking among the living, completely fine.
"Yesterday, I saw him get beaten to the verge of death, but now, I can't see an injury on him. How could he have recovered overnight when he doesn't even have the money to get treatment?"
"His sister must have sold herself into prostitution to procure a healing potion for him."
"That makes sense. There's really no other for mere mortals to earn that amount overnight."
"So she slept with a rich dude for a potion? What a slut she is."
"Now that young slut has tasted easy money, I wonder if she will open her legs for me if I offer her a good sum."
"Stop daydreaming. You're a poor bastard who can't even look after his own wife and son. How are you going to come up with the money to sleep with a pretty slut?"
"She's naive, did you forget? I'll just lie to her about the money and get her to sleep with me, not paying her a penny after the deed is done. What can she even do to me?"
The more Sal heard, the more his blood boiled. It wasn't his feelings that were aroused; that much he could tell. It was the body's instinctual reaction to hearing his sister being badmouthed by a bunch of ruffians.
His body was screaming at him to take action against them.
The anomaly within his body wanted the same. However, as if it had a deeper understanding of Sal as if it knew that trying to influence his decision would be a bad idea, it remained silent.
Sal was naturally unwilling to listen to the cries of the body he had possessed. He wasn't a man who acted based on emotions. Drawing on his indomitable willpower, he suppressed the instinctual urge to blindly pounce on the three people.
Then, he stopped in the midst of his steps.
In his long life, he had the misfortune of meeting many kinds of people. At a glance, he could tell that the three men had no morals or bottom line and were opportunists who bullied the weak.
If he didn't react fiercely to their provocation, they would straightaway go to target Ann. Breaking into the house to harass her or even force themselves on her, these scoundrels were capable of anything.
If he allowed that to happen, his deal with the anomaly would fall off and it would turn against him, becoming a voice in his head that never dies like chronic tinnitus. Who can remain sane or focus under such circumstances?
Low-level anomaly couldn't physically harm a person, but it could fuck up their mind!
Of course, he could kill it by sacrificing his weak spiritual consciousness, but that would result in three great losses.
Firstly, he would lose an important trump card, which was his spiritual consciousness.
Secondly, he would never get to know the original owner's secret.
Thirdly, he would not obtain the memories of the original owner, remaining ignorant of the world he was in for a long time.
He was in a refugee camp. The majority here was ignorant. There was no library. Books were scarce and treated as family treasures. People were non-communicative. His best bet to gaining knowledge about this world was to inherit the original owner's memories.
With these reasons as his motivation, he decided to not ignore their provocation. He also branded them as targets to be looted. He was going to take everything from them, even their manhoods if organs could be sold in this place. Because how dare they change his mind after he had decided to spare them!
Seeing Sal suddenly stopping as he was passing by them, the three friends looked his way with a frown.
One of them scowled, "What do you want, kid?"
Sal turned his head and looked at them with a calm gaze, "Take what you said about Ann back and come with me to apologize to her."
A cold gleam flashed in his eyes, transforming his calm gaze into a chilling one.
Being stared at by such a gaze, Hanks, Joe, and Thompson felt startled. They felt as if a venomous snake was eying them up.
'Such a cruel gaze, is he planning to kill us?'
'Why?'
'Just because he expressed our desire to fuck his underage sister?'
'Does he think the rules of the old world still exist?'
'Pedophiles are no longer discriminated against!'
'How dare he look at us like that?'
The three friends who shared the same disgusting hobby remembered how Sal was beaten like a dog yesterday and thought he was just acting tough.
Behind that venomous gaze that left grown men feeling breathless, they believed, was a weak boy who even they could crush.
Thus, they quickly regained their composure.
Thompson looked at Sal, cleared his throat, and with a mocking smile on his face, loudly sneered, "Or else what? What are you going to do, boy?"
Pa!
Immediately, Sal landed a smack on Thompson's rugged face with such force that three teeth were knocked out of the latter's mouth, and an entire handprint was stamped on his face.
Recovering from the slap, Thompson looked at Sal with bloodshot eyes that spoke volumes of his anger and deep-seated desire to rip apart the person who humiliated him in front of his best friends, "You dare slap me?"
Pa!
Sal landed another slap on his face.
This slap sent Thompson on a journey where he experienced what it was like to be a helpless maiden who was being manhandled as he collapsed to the ground and spewed out a mouthful of blood.
Thompson's eyes widened. In the blood he had spewed out, he caught sight of four of his yellowish teeth!
"There, I dare to slap you again. What are you going to do about it?" Sal retorted calmly as he folded his hands before his chest, looking down at the middle-aged man who dared to badmouth Ann with a disdainful gaze.
"Guys, stop being helpful and help me get this little runt!" Thompson shouted to his friend while pointing at Sal.