The noise among the crowd quickly quieted as Nathan prepared to continue his story. Nathan's stories usually ranged from 20 minutes to a full hour, and the audience knew that this time, he still had much more to say.
Nathan took another sip of water and opened his mouth again, but this time, his voice seemed quieter than usual. "Elemental traits fundamentally decide what we are capable of doing in society. For example, people with fire elemental traits are responsible for any situation that requires fire, heat, or warmth, whereas people with light elemental traits utilize their Rune Arts to brighten up an area. These Rune Arts are simple to learn and cast and are considered 'General Rune Arts.' The other two types are combat and construction—the names speak for themselves. These two types are more restricted and can only be legally taught at prestigious Rune Arts academies."
Nathan's words were steady and firm, but his expression grew more serious as he seemed to notice something. He stopped after finishing his sentence, focusing on scanning the environment rather than continuing the story.
"Hold on, guys," he whispered as he signaled the crowd to be quiet. From a distance, the sound of footsteps could faintly be heard, growing louder and louder as they approached. Nathan gritted his teeth and cursed quietly, "Come on… Not again…"
From the main road, a horde of people approached the small clearing where the crowd was gathered. The atmosphere stiffened quickly at the metallic noise they made.
For all its chaos, Lostburg was an abandoned paradise for criminals and rogues. None of them were particularly eager for blood, though—killing didn't benefit them in any way. So apart from madmen who killed for fun, these gangs of criminals weren't the worst things to deal with. But there was always a cost.
"Yo, Nathan Modernson, am I right?" the muscular man leading the gang yelled to Nathan, who was still sitting on top of the crate. "Look at you—are you starting a revolution or something? How many people do we have here?" He smiled greedily as he scanned the crowd, the horrifying scar on his face causing some older citizens to recoil.
Nathan shook off the annoyance on his face, replacing it with a bright, humble smile as he jumped off the crate. He seemed nothing like the boy he was a few minutes ago. Now, Nathan Modernson looked more like a lowly thug than a confident storyteller. His movements became smaller, and his voice no longer carried the same confidence.
"How dare I, how dare I?" he said with a smile, approaching the man quietly. "Sir, everyone here knows you're in charge of the safety of our neighborhood. Who do I think I am to challenge your authority?" He kept his head low and shrugged. "You know what I do here, sir—I'm just an ordinary storyteller. Just a few days ago, I was telling them about the epic victory you had against the enemies of the other streets." Seeing an arrogant smile appear on the man's face, Nathan scoffed silently and turned to the audience with a straight face.
"Do you guys remember? This is Sir Robert from the Metal Wolf Gang, the legend I told you about."
Tom whispered to one of his friends beside him, "What is he talking about? Nathan has never mentioned that guy even once." Fortunately, his voice was too quiet for anyone to hear. A man beside him quickly signaled him to be quiet. It wasn't too rare for people to be threatened by gang members. Nathan had gotten so used to it that he had learned how to deal with them.
The crowd responded with as much energy as they could muster, forcing smiles on their faces. Even though the smiles were clearly fake, Robert didn't seem to care.
Nathan released a sigh of relief and announced loudly to the audience, "Do you have nothing to give to this legendary figure? Stop being so dense and present your offerings to Sir Robert. He is our protector of peace, and don't think you can take that for granted!" Nathan furrowed his eyebrows as he yelled the last sentence. From his expression, the citizens knew they had no choice but to hand over some of their money.
Robert laughed wildly and suddenly patted Nathan on the back, nearly causing him to collapse. "You're a smart one, young man—a rare kind in Lostburg."
"And you are definitely not," Nathan cursed Robert silently in his mind. Outwardly, he replied with a humble smile, "Just doing what I can, sir. I'm nothing compared to your great achievements."
From the moment Robert entered the clearing, Nathan had noticed a new scar on his right arm. It was still fresh—possibly from a fight the day before. From Robert's annoyed expression, it was clear he had lost the fight. Nathan knew he had to do more than offer compliments to protect everyone else.
The citizens lined up one by one, handing over whatever money they had to the gang members.
"Sir, I have no money on me right now," an old man said with a trembling voice when it was his turn. Fear was evident in his eyes.
Before Robert could reply, Nathan waved his hands dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all know you're poor as crap—just scram out of the way, will you?"
Events like this continued as the line grew shorter and shorter. With his quick wit, Nathan successfully prevented any conflicts from breaking out.
In the end, the Metal Wolf Gang seemed impressed with the amount of money they collected, but Robert didn't seem done. He turned to Nathan and raised an eyebrow.
Nathan swiftly grabbed a couple of notes from his pocket. To Lostburg citizens, paper money was extremely rare. Most of them only had a few coins and gadgets that could barely count as currency.
"How can I be the one missing out?" Nathan said, placing the money in Robert's hand with a smile. "As a storyteller who earns money, it's my responsibility to give you more."
This, however, wasn't exactly true. Nathan told his stories for free and never charged anyone. For some unknown reason, Nathan's father brought home large sums of money every so often. To some extent, Nathan suspected his father might be the richest man in Lostburg.
Robert stared at the $20 note, his eyes widening. Even for someone like him, that much money at once seemed unreal. He took it quickly and stuffed it in his pocket. When he turned back to Nathan, his expression had changed slightly.
"You really are a special boy, Nathan Modernson," he said, nodding in acknowledgment. The mischief in his eyes seemed to fade. "Listen up—if anyone dares to mess with you, come to me, and I'll feed them my metal bat."
Nathan lowered his head even further and replied quietly, "I do this with my own heart's intent, but I will accept your generous gift with more thankfulness than words can describe."
So many gangs had made Nathan that promise that he had grown bored of it. It wasn't like he'd ever actually go to them for help if he were in trouble.
But such is the life of Nathan Modernson—a boy who always managed to get out of dangerous situations and earn the favour of dangerous men. He wasn't exactly happy or proud of the methods he used, but in a lawless city where strength seemed to be all that mattered, Nathan knew he had discovered a much easier way to survive safely.