CHAPTER 388: TRASHY YOUNG MASTER ATTACKS

Thomas ran outside, his boots crunching against the frostbitten dirt as he pushed past the swinging tavern doors.

"Wait, young master!" He called, breath fogging in the chill air.

Apollo had already reached the edge of the street, a faint glimmer of starlight outlining his calm figure. He stopped but didn’t turn.

Thomas caught up, panting lightly, though his eyes were sharp. "I’ve decided. Let me follow you. That land... it’s not just rocks and brutes. There are paths only the locals know. And besides," he added with a wry grin, "you might find it useful to have someone who knows the place."

Apollo glanced sideways, his gaze unreadable.

"Oh, you want to follow me." He looked towards Thomas as his calm and blue eyes seemed to see through his secrets.

He already noticed the difference; surprisingly, he was injured, making his aura a bit scattered, but that wasn’t the most unexpected thing. What was surprising was that he felt weird energy that seemed like a mysterious poison slowly gnawing him from inside.

Thomas’s current strength was barely third rank, but he could be sure he was at least a fifth-rank saint or even reached the half-god realm before he was hit by such poison.

Apollo’s gaze lingered on his chest, then his shoulder, then finally his core. "You’re injured," he said flatly.

Thomas stiffened, a hint of sweat forming at his brow despite the night chill.

"That energy inside you", Apollo continued, "it’s not natural. It’s eating at you. A curse? No... more like a living poison. Mysterious. It’s burrowing into your foundation."

Thomas’s throat tightened. His usual smirk cracked. He didn’t expect Apollo to see through him in an instant.

The silence between them grew heavy. Then, finally, Thomas looked down, voice gravelly. "You’re sharp, young master. Too sharp. Yes... I used to be someone. And yes, I was poisoned — not just my body, but my soul. I’ve tried everything. Nothing worked. And now..."

He raised his head again, and for the first time, the mask of confidence dropped. A flicker of despair, deeply buried, danced behind his eyes.

"...now I can barely survive. That’s all."

Apollo studied him a moment longer. "You want to follow me," he said again. "But I don’t carry useless."

Thomas clenched his fists.

"I won’t be a burden," he said hoarsely. "And if you give me just one chance... one chance to climb again... I swear on what’s left of my soul, I’ll prove I’m worth it."

A long pause.

Then Apollo turned. "Then keep up."

No more words were needed. He felt Thomas might have a troublesome history, but he felt he was talented and was good with dealing with people. And now on Rion he needed such people, except his guardian; he didn’t bring other people from Sky Tower.

And his family is too weak compared to the current dangers of Rion, so he needed to establish his own power here, which not only will help him look into things in all of Rion but can also help his family when he leaves.

Hearing this, Thomas felt relieved and excited, as this might truly be the opportunity he was waiting for.

He quickly then followed Apollo and calmly walked beside him. The streets of the border outpost buzzed with life — peddlers shouting, mercenaries brawling in corners, and smoke rising from half-burnt torches. Yet amidst the noise, a strange sense of clarity settled around Apollo.

Apollo, with the addition of a local guide, also started to ask more about the northern continent.

He listened in silence, absorbing each word like pieces of a grand puzzle.

But as they strolled deeper into the street, heads began to turn. Not the curious kind — but the kind that calculated value. Thugs, bandits, desperate mercenaries — their eyes gleamed with the thought of wealth. Apollo’s calm demeanour, expensive-looking robe, and noble bearing painted a very tempting target.

But between those people paying attention, there was a very hidden person who seemed to be looking at Thomas.

A figure cloaked in brown, leaning lazily against the side of a building, hidden behind a veil of illusion so thin it would only fool the inattentive. Their eyes weren’t on Apollo — they were fixed on Thomas. Narrowed. Calculating. As if seeing a ghost.

The figure tilted their head slightly. A grin crept across their face.

"So... the cripple still breathes," they murmured to themselves.

"I have to quickly inform the master about this." And after muttering this, his figure quickly disappeared.

The moment he disappeared, Apollo seemed to look in the same direction with a bit of an evil smile, like he knew everything, but he didn’t say anything to Thomas and leisurely continued to stroll the streets of this outpost.

The outpost was filled with criminals and murders and had many people from different continents, as it was near the sea and they ran from other continents.

Though he hadn’t sensed any direct members of the ancient clans, the strength buried in this place wasn’t lacking. In fact, it was terrifying.

At least two half-god presences were concealed in the deeper corners of the outpost — not the type to move unless provoked, but their silent pressure told Apollo all he needed to know.

Even more striking was the sheer number of Limit-Breakers here. Far more than in the Eastern or Western Continents. Chaos bred strength, and this land was proof.

Still, Apollo walked with ease, unfazed. If anything, he seemed entertained.

The northern continent might be wild and broken... But perhaps that’s what made it such fertile ground.

After some time they were ready to leave and went towards the Titanbone clan territory, but just as they stepped outside, dozens of people quickly surrounded them.

From alleyways, rooftops, and behind stacked crates, dozens of people appeared with practised coordination. Robes flapped in the wind, and blades glinted beneath the rising sun. There were more than thirty of them, all with the look of seasoned killers — eyes sharp, breathing calm, positions set like they’d done this hundreds of times before.

They were surrounded.

"Trash, you are still alive." A cold and arrogant voice was heard as slowly a young man who looked like some trashy young master villain walked in front of them.