Chapter 151: Slums (2/2)

The boys shared a look and quietly picked up large stones which were half the size of a head from the ground, their hearts quickening in nervousness.

Their lives would be over if children like them were captured and sold as slaves—no slave owner would want sickly, scrawny and filthy children like them, and they would definitely be sent to illegal mines and be worked to their deaths, or simply fed to the monsters of various gladiator arenas…

However, both Simba and Zazu breathed in relief when that person finally arrived by the door, and they remained alert although not as much as before.

The person was a tall and skinny middle-aged man who calls himself Mufasa. The sword he carried over his back was distinctly different from the thick, heavy weapons of other mercenaries: it was weirdly long and narrow, not to mention that it only had a single edge. Moreover, despite the cold weather, he was only dressed in something simply sewn out of sackcloth that resembled a tramp.

But to call him a tramp would be wrong: those rags were actually very clean and unsullied in any manner, just as it was so flat that there were no signs of wrinkle over those clothes.

Considering that both washing and ironing would take a lot of effort, Simba wondered if something sewn out of broken rags need to be washed.

This wasn’t the first time Simba and Zazu had met him.

***

When the winter season first began, the middle-aged man had excitedly asked if they wanted to join a mysterious church. He did not mention which church it was, which was why Simba ignored him, believing that it was a cult that must not be named.

He did want to drag Zazu and Nala into some bizarre cult, and then be used as offerings to evil gods.

Fortunately, Mufasa did not keep pestering them and left after Simba declined.

He returned a few times, however, but would still quickly leave whenever his preaching failed.

And now, Mufasa raised his hands in surrender when he saw the youth and the stones in their hands, indicating that he meant no harm.

“It’s goddamned cold around here. You wouldn’t mind me using the fire too, yes?” He then said, self-indulgently approaching the fire as if he did not notice Simba and Zazu’s hostile looks.

However, none of them saw what they did but the fire suddenly bloomed. The radiant flames shone in the house that only half a ceiling left as warmth extended, with Simba feeling as comfortable as having a warm water bath—and he could no longer remember when was the last time he had one.

Meanwhile, Mufasa spied a bull femur in a corner that was riddled with bite marks[1] and could not help but lift a brow.

Hence, he whipped out a helm-like cauldron out of nowhere and put it over the fire, before going outside to scoop up clean snow to boil in it. After that, he took out some spice Simba did not know the name of and put it into the cauldron, before finally drawing out a piece of bacon which he cut into paper-thin slices with his long sword that he cooked inside.

Simba couldn’t help but blink. Is that really long sword a knife to cut meat with instead? Wouldn’t it hurt others, given how lengthy and inconvenient it looked?

But soon enough, the sweet scent of meat soup extended, leaving Simba and the others salivating.

[1] bad Simba! Go back to your slimy yet satisfying stuff