They say silence speaks louder than words, but not here in Lik…

"I give you three days!" the bald landlord yelled in Zavry's face. His saliva landed on Zavry's cheeks. Even knowing what was happening, the man didn't care. His breath, reeking of alcohol and smoke, tingled lightly in Zavry's senses, but the boy maintained a calm expression.

"If you don't pay your rent like the others, you'll leave. I don't care if your rags aren't packed yet."

Displeasure was written all over the landlord's face as he eyed the young boy who stood silently.

How long was this man going to lecture him? He had more important things to do–and besides, he was the landlord. Was he not supposed to be handling other house affairs rather than shouting in Zavry’s face?

"Don't think I'll pity you because you're mute," he added, restraining himself from spitting in the boy's face.

Zavry understood this man well. Of course, who wouldn't be annoyed in this modern day? Zavry learned their ways well already. How could a tenant not be able to pay rent?

It was just twenty dollars and three gold coins.

Not to mention, he was living on the underground floor—a space originally meant for junk, which made it even cheaper.

But he still couldn't understand why the landlord was shouting. It wasn't like he hadn't paid anything. He had paid part of the rent..one gold coin. That meant he only owed twenty dollars and two more gold coins–unless he didn't understand this world as well as he thought he did.

"Get a fucking job!" the man barked, annoyance thick in his tone. Why was the boy's silence so irritating?

"I can see why you didn't get a voice. Foolish, idiotic, gut-wrenching fool," the man spat.

‘What kind of strange curse is that?’ Zavry wondered.

With a heavy grunt, the landlord banged the door shut in Zavry's face.

What did he expect from a world where money speaks louder than words? Here, money was power. And right now, the only difference between him and a beggar was that he had an apartment he was owing rent on.

No one knew what he was really capable of, what he could do, or what he had done. Annoying, really, but this was what fate had handed him.

A soft sigh escaped his lips.

CLUCK-CLUCK-CLUCK!

The hen clucked loudly outside the window. Apparently, it had turned his windowsill into its home. What else could he expect? This place wasn't even a real home.

Just yesterday, he'd chased the fowl off several times…and cleaned the shit it had left behind, caked all over the glass. Honestly, scrapping all of it off was worse than the lingering sour egg smell it left wafting in the room.

"Don't blame me if you become meat for my soup tomorrow," he muttered in his head, his blue eyes scanning the kitchen for food.

"Just one noodle…" He exhaled loudly.

He moved to grab an instant noodle pack, but it was already torn open. He glanced at the box—apparently, it had expired. In fact, it expired last week. A soft, exhausted sigh left his lips. He had gotten the noodle pack from an eating contest last week, which, luckily, he had won.

Of course, why wouldn’t he? He had been hungry. Opportunity had really come at the right time. He turned on the stove, placed the noodles in it, and began to cook. He was seriously starving.

Here, where appearances and clothing mattered, Zavry had no money for new clothes. And to even get a job, he needed to look presentable. The biggest obstacle, however, was that he couldn’t speak—he was mute. This place was really harder than he thought, and it seemed he could not handle the world at all.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply as he stared at his tiny apartment. It was so small, it was barely a room. A room that also served as a parlor and kitchen...not to mention the windowless bathroom.

That explained why it was so cheap.

It was not even pleasing to the eye. He couldn’t even invite somebody in here with how dirty it looked.

Of course, people had questions, like, “What was a nineteen-year-old boy doing living like this?” At least he'd managed to shut them up. He'd written on a scrap of paper that his parents abandoned him when he was little, and he was just an orphan, but there was no need to show it as news here spread like wildfire, and one neighbor knew everybody knew.

He took a step toward the window, his eyes staring into the thin air as he gathered his long black hair and tied it up. He didn’t even have enough money for a proper haircut.

He walked toward the kitchen drawer and opened it. His lips twitched upward as his fingers brushed along the inside. A cockroach scurried away from a dead carrot lying inside. He shifted the carrot aside and reached deeper into the drawer.

Then, with a quick push upward, the drawer made a soft sound as it lifted and separated from its track.

A slow curve lifted his lips.
Behind the false panel, a rough wall was revealed. His fingers moved across it, scanning the surface until they paused on a slightly rougher spot. He pressed it. A soft click followed, and the panel began to open.

His gaze lowered. A long, seemingly endless staircase was revealed, lit by small candles placed at intervals.

Zavry grabbed the half-cooked noodles from the counter—he didn’t care how hot the pot was. Hunger dulled the pain.

Chopsticks in hand, he began eating the expired noodles[1] [2] while heading down the stairs. He needed energy for the descent.

"Poverty is a fucking bastard," he hissed in his head.

Reaching the bottom, he moved the pot to his lips as he drank down the noodle water. He bent down and gently set the pot on one of the steps.

Before him was a slightly broken wooden door with holes. His lips curled upward ever so slightly, yet his lifeless eyes remained stiff.

A low creaking sound filled the space as he pushed it open. Inside, a small room was dimly lit by candlelight. His eyes scanned the room. A shelf, which consumed nearly all the space, was crammed with torn and abandoned books.

His fingers glided across the collection until they landed on a dusty book without a cover, torn in almost every section. He flipped the middle page of the book, where there was a blank page.

He spoke in his head:

"Where will I be visiting today?"

The page remained blank for a moment.

Then, letters slowly formed.

Heer

He raised a brow, his eyes flashing with something unspoken.

“Interesting.”

People thought he had been mute since birth.

But the truth was..he was cursed.

His voice had been taken from him.

And now, he had to fight to get it back.

All of this—

After he killed a god.