Food is very important.

In fact, without the ability to fill their stomachs, well-dressed and civilized people would turn into brutal beasts after a while.

To put it another way, even the vengeful and murderous spirit of Nostramo needs to eat.

After all, he wasn't really a ghost anymore, so how could he not eat?

As the cold wind blew past, ruffling Karyl's cloak and black hair, the ghost crouched at the other end, staring forward with a blank expression on his face, which was usually what he wore when he wasn't on a mission.

Still, that's the kind of expression a year and a half old should have, right?

Normally, the gargoyles on the edge of a tall building are a great vantage point, overlooking the many vistas below, but if you choose them, you also have to endure the cold they bring.

I'm afraid that's the truth of so-called high places.

Karyl took a deep breath and picked up a large lump of black gooey substance from one of the plastic plates in front of him. It looked like poison or some unidentified object from the sewers, and it tasted.......

Truth be told, there were times when Karil would have preferred not to have a sense of taste.

The Spectre turned his head and saw Karil's expression gradually change from serious to an eerie distortion after a hard swallow.

It made him shake his head.

"Why would you eat something like that?" asked Spectre in disbelief. "And you always eat."

"Because I'm a commoner - and I don't have the means to improve my meals, we don't have the money, Spectre."

Khalil struggled to swallow the contraption stuck in his throat and replied, "The most important thing is that I need to eat, and I need to eat at least one meal a day, and unlike you, one meal in three days is enough."

The Spectre thought for a moment and nodded.

He didn't hear any malice in Karil's words, only a faint mockery at best, which was even directed at Karil himself.

Besides, the Spectre himself had eaten once in three days.

Kalil closed his eyes and sighed - the horrible taste of the nutrient paste made him want to vomit a few times.

He had just finished a job that had taken six hours, and this was the small payment he had received for his short time off.

He had cleaned out the building with the air filters on the top floor, and except for a few innocent people, most of the people inside were corrupt officials with the thugs and bodyguards they had hired from the gangs.

Khalil killed them, but instead of giving the money they had hidden to the poor, he scattered them and set a fire to burn all the money clean.

That kind of money......Civilians can't take it, and it's best not to.

"Do you want more?" asked Spectre.

"Of course....Appreciating food is a virtue," Karyl replied.

His expression remained calm, but that didn't mean he really wanted it.

In fact, he was now very grateful that this nutrient paste would turn into a sticky liquid after being soaked in water.If it had been the other kind, he might still have had to make a fire.

This yellowish nutrient paste was as hard as a slab, knives couldn't break it, water couldn't soften it, and if you wanted to eat this kind of stuff raw, you had to be one of the saw-toothed beasts outside the city that could chew through steel.

But the Sawtooth Beasts had plenty of people to eat, and they didn't want to eat that kind of stuff.

"Why don't you eat rats?" asked Spectre, frowning. "If you're worried about germs, you can take out the guts and char them over a fire."

Khalil's cheeks twitched.

"......Spectre, don't tell me you're still secretly catching mice to eat these days, I obviously go and get a lot of nutrient cream back every three days!"

"......Nutrient creams don't taste good, rats do, and rats ......very big."

The Spectre turned his head and began to look away."Besides, they usually come out in packs, so catching a few can be a good meal......".

"That's no reason for you to eat rats!"

Khalil said gravely as he picked up a handful of the black, slimy substance with his fingers, and the touch that came back made his stomach twitch a little, but he ate it anyway.

There wasn't even any hesitation.

No matter how bad it was, this stuff was still food.And in a hellhole like Nostramo, it was relatively clean enough.

"But I think rats are a little better than nutrient paste, Khalil," the Spectre advised hesitantly."You should really think about rats."

"......Just remember, Spectre, you're a human!And humans don't eat rats!"

"You lie! I know many ways to cook rats, and if people don't eat them, who would have invented so many ways to make them delicious?"

The apparition said, smacking his lips as if trying to conjure up those rat dishes in his mind.

"I'm not lying."

Is there something wrong with the guy who created you?

Karil frowned in disbelief.

Why was he telling her how to cook rats?

"But these rats look really tasty."

The ghost said as he crouched down and cocked his head in slight yearning, glancing at the view below the gargoyle.

Neon lights split the sky as they always did, and a vehicle roared by not far away.The bronze gargoyle they were crouching on was lucky it hadn't been corroded by the acid rain yet.

The ghost liked it very much and took his hand to touch its head, feeling the regularity.

His body heat gradually warmed the gargoyle as well, and gradually it became less cold where he touched it, and this positive feedback allowed the ghost to begin to lengthen the time it stayed in his palm without pleasure.

Khalil noticed this, and with his knowledge of the ghost's habits, he knew that if nothing else, the ghost would choose to overlook this for the next few days.

His behavior was innocent and childish, as a child would do.

And Karil knew that beneath this facade of naivety was a monster that only needed time to grow up to turn the whole world upside down.

As for the Phantom's words, he didn't answer, Karil was afraid that his imagination would kick in at a time when it shouldn't.

Eating nutrient paste was a torture in itself, if he had to imagine rats roasted to charcoal while eating nutrient paste......Or a stewed rat with its skin peeled off .......

His face twitched.

"......What about them?" the ghost asked suddenly.

His question put an end to Khalil's imagination, much to his relief.

"Who?" asked Khalil.

"Them, the ones who live in the shantytowns."

"You want to ask what they usually eat, don't you?"

The Spectre nodded.

Khalil gave him a look and then stuffed the last piece - or rather the last dollop - of the nutrient paste into his mouth, not forgetting to slip the plastic plate into the inside pocket of his shirt.

He didn't want to litter, not to mention that it was dangerous to throw things from a height.

With that, Karil vaguely answered the Spectre's question as he struggled to swallow the unappetizing contraption that made his taste buds numb.

"Most people eat the same as me. It's only been popularized in Nostramo in the last ten years, supposedly because a certain upper class nobleman thought it wasn't necessary for the workers to eat too well."

After saying this, Khalil cleared his throat, trying to make it a little more comfortable and not be tormented by that sticky feeling.

Of course, his efforts failed.

Meeting the Spectre's gaze, he added, "As for whether they get enough or not... That depends on whether they work hard or not. If they are willing to work more than 18 hours a day, then they will still be able to eat that day."

The Spectre's eyes widened, he didn't know much about the world, but what he did know was enough for him to understand what this whole thing really meant.

"Is that why there are so many suicides......?"Spectre asked in a low voice.

Khalil smiled.You still haven't seen the truth of this hellhole, he thought.People committed suicide not only to escape their misery because they were underfed and underclothed, but also because they saw no hope.

And the nobles didn't even care - to them, workers dying was a good thing, as long as they didn't consume resources.

"No, it's more than that," Karil said. "That's only part of the reason, at best."

"So is it the gangs too?"

"They're just accomplices."

"So....The nobles are to blame?"

"In a way, yes."Kalil shook his head.

"But the root cause is still not really theirs, Spectre.You once said that you thought the world was sick......But you don't really know what a normal world looks like."

The Spectre was silent for a moment, then replied, "......I've seen bits and pieces, and those worlds aren't quite the same as Nostramo."

More than not quite the same, Khalil thought to himself.

"What makes them different from Nostramo?"Spectre asked blankly."Karil......Do you have an answer?"

I do, of course I do.

I have a million answers I could give you, I could even publish a book on what to do.

I've had too much time to think about it, and all these years floating around this world have shown me so much.......

And they are hard enough to make a philosopher out of a ghost who just wants to die.

But I can't, Spectre.

Looking at him, Khalil spoke quietly, "There are some questions that you have to find the answers to on your own, Spectre, and I can't tell you.Everyone approaches the world differently, and I don't want to influence you......".

Although I already have. I'm sorry.

"Also - the break is over."

Kahlil stood, his expression changing for a split second as he tightened the laces of his cloak and raised his arms, a dangerous silver light flickering at his wrists.

"Who is it today?" asked Spectre.

"Scarlet Finale......Remember to say hello to them later, Spectre, they were generous enough to lend us two motorcycles last time."

Kahlil let out a loud laugh and jumped straight off the gargoyle, with the Spectre following close behind.

The gargoyle stared up, freezing, and what little warmth the spectre had left in its head quickly disappeared.

-----------------

An elderly woman with a full head of gray hair, a little fat, and a little leggy walked into a dark hallway.

In the woman's hand was a silver dinner plate, large, inlaid with gold, and laden with food.There were three huge cutlets, fried just right, soft white bread, a thick soup, and a whole delicate pastry.

The aroma was overwhelming.

I'm afraid that if she was placed in the lower nest, thousands of people would be willing to kill each other for this delicious meal, and they would pay a high price just to have a bite.

Behind the woman's back, buried deep in her flesh and blood, was a black metal base from which extended a beautifully painted black mechanical arm, a candle slowly burning above the three sharp mechanical fingers.

The woman walked slowly, not because of her age or her legs, but on purpose.

Portraits hung on the walls on either side of the corridor, men and women in brocade and expensive clothing, their faces pale and powdered.The dead were set in elaborate frames with ornate reliefs around the edges that reflected the drawn light.

They all stared at the woman with vacant eyes, and she returned each one's greeting with respect.

Fifteen minutes later, she finally left the corridor.The woman stood in front of the two heavy, gilt-embossed doors with her dinner tray in hand and knocked heavily on them with her forehead.

There was a dull clang, and after three taps, the doors opened of their own accord, and she found herself in a brand-new, sprawling room.

Thick, dark red carpeting, eighteen crystal chandeliers, and many bulky pieces of furniture and decoration gave the place a gilded look, more like a small palace than a room.

"My esteemed count."

The woman bent low, her white hair sliding down over a red and swollen forehead, her voice reverent. "Your lunch has been brought."

"Put it on the table."

A voice rang out from the other end of the room, with a bit of carelessness and the majesty that came with being in a position of power for so long - it was worth noting that, aside from those things, his voice was hoarse.

The woman kept her head down and moved her feet slowly, making her way by memory to a long mahogany table, setting down her plate, and then heading straight for the main door, intending to leave.

And the voice sounded again at that moment, "In twenty minutes, bring Jandor, Lena, and Irenai all here...... their playtime is over.The Skolewalkers have a task for them.".

"As you wish, my Earl."The woman turned back to the door and bowed respectfully before banging her forehead heavily on the door three more times.Only after the door was opened did the woman respectfully leave.

Her forehead had begun to bleed, but no one cared, not even herself.