The Extra Wants To Live

He took advantage of the fights between refugees to search through other people's luggage and steal daggers.

He held the dagger close to his chest, holding it with the sole thought of protecting his younger sister.

Howell gave most of the little food he was given to Iriz, and while starving, he whipped his hazy mind into focus.

He wondered if it would be better to go out, but Howell only had two coins, and the village where their house was still suffering from plunder by Salgarez mercenaries.

There was nothing that could be done.

Then, unable to withstand the harsh environment, young Iriz fell ill with a fever.

Howell pleaded with the soldiers, but the most they could offer was a sip of clean water for Iriz to drink.

Howell keenly felt that he and his sister were worse than livestock.

Pigs and chickens were valuable property, so if they got sick, everyone would be in trouble.

However, his beloved younger sister, Iriz, fell ill and was dying, and all the soldiers did was click their tongues as if they were annoyed and gave her a sip of water.

Howell regretted everything.

If he had stayed at home, even if it was looted, he could have survived by handing over his belongings.

Or maybe he had made a decision a little faster and left Dabron. If he didn't trust his uncle and his wife. If he hadn't entered the refugee camp.

If only he could have protected his parents that day.

It was all his fault.

Howell was in despair, crying while holding Iriz, who was out of breath and unable to come to her senses, in his arms.

"It's a meal!"

It was an evening not long after the sun had set. It was not long after the distribution that additional food was suddenly provided.

The refugees who had been crouching to endure the cold suddenly jumped up and rushed in as if it were a lie.

Howell got up and ran with them, fearing he would fall as he was swept away by the waves of people hitting and pushing him.

Rather than giving them something to eat, it was because he was afraid that his living sister would be trampled to death.

"Get in line! Stand in line and take one at a time! If you do something stupid, I will expel you immediately!"

The rough hands of the refugees who rushed to get food rations grabbed Howell's arms and clothes and pulled him back, eventually forcing him backwards.

"Tell your name when you receive food! Food will not be given to those who disobey this rule!"

The soldiers forced the screaming refugees to retreat by pointing their spears at them, lined them up, and distributed food to them step by step.

The refugees had no idea about the rationing system that suddenly required them to give their names.

They just wanted to get food as soon as possible.

"Don't fall! If you have received your food, wait there!"

The soldier carefully recorded the names of the refugees, gave them food, and divided them into sections as before.

They were strictly monitored to prevent those who had already received food from crossing over.

Howell stumbled along the inertial shrinking line.

"... Howell, Iriz..."

And after standing at the end of the line and waiting for a while, he was finally able to receive two loaves of bread.

He didn't feel the need to mention the last name Makini.

Howell stared blankly at the pen meticulously writing down the names.

Howell's hand, which once held a pen as an administrator, was now holding a dagger in his chest, and he was holding his sick, helpless sister.

"Hey, take it quickly."

As Howell was dazed, the soldier roughly shoved two loaves of bread into Howell's arms.

The moment the bread was lifted up carelessly on Iriz's head, which was wrapped in clothes, Howell tightly held the dagger in his bosom.

It felt like something was about to boil over. He just couldn't bear it.

"This ration is just the leftover food to welcome the 4th Prince Carl! It was specially given to you by the grace of Lord Carl and His Excellency the Marquis, so don't forget it!"

Howell, who was about to pull out his dagger, suddenly stopped at those words.

First of all, what crossed his mind was the thought that this matter would be resolved soon.

Then Howell guess he can go back home.

But his parents were dead, his uncle and his wife had run away, and his younger sister Iriz was dying.

Until then, can Iriz hold out? Howell groped the unconscious Iriz with trembling hands.

She had to eat at least the bread she was given. She had to eat something to get her energy back.

"... What..."

Then, Howell noticed something strange.

Howell felt for the bread, lifted it, and held it up to the light of the torch. It was hard, rough, and a little smelly.

It was a very common commoner's staple food, such ugly bread.

It also looked quite old. ... It was definitely not an item worth presenting to a prince.

"... I want to see Prince Carl."

"What?"

Howell said as he grabbed the soldier. The soldier looked Howell up and down with an expression that seemed to say,

"What the hell is this crazy kid?"

"Did prince Carl give you an order? Yes?"

The soldier pushed him away roughly, but Howell, who was pushed to the very end, never let go.

He tried to suppress his trembling voice as much as possible, trying to prove that he was not crazy.

"Isn't this something that should be presented at a banquet to welcome royalty? It's a low-quality item that can't even be used to wipe hands or dishes, and it smells old and musty. Above all, it's not even been that long since the sun set, so there's no way the banquet will end already."

As he continued speaking, Howell became more and more confident. His head, dizzy from the cold and hunger, was spinning hard, and he felt dizzy.

"There is no way His Excellency the Marquis would just distribute food. They are of no value to refugees, so even a few loaves of bread are an unnecessary and excessive expense. So there has never been any separate rationing other than what was set? Didn't Carl, the Prince who has influence over the Marquis, come to Davron today, and did he take pity on the refugees and order them to distribute food?

By making excuses to keep refugees from asking for more."

The soldier looked a little embarrassed at Howell, who spoke in a voice that had stopped trembling.

He understood all the circumstances accurately, as if he were watching from the side.

All he was given was two loaves of hard bread and a few words from the soldier.

To the soldier, Howell seemed crazy in a slightly different sense. Greasy hair, blackened face, dirty clothes. Nevertheless, his confident eyes and perfect reasoning made this young man look very extraordinary.

A sharp intellect in itself exuded strong charisma.

"... No, it's okay if I don't see Carl. Anything is fine, please let me heal my sister. It would be nice just to clean her body and let her rest in a warm place, so please..."

Howell whispered softly and pleaded with the soldier.

He didn't kneel or cry.

If he made such a conspicuous appearance, other refugees would look at him and the soldiers wouldn't be able to help him even if they wanted to.

"I promise. I won't tell anyone."

"... Are you threatening me now?"

"... No, no. No. I just want to save my sister. That's it."

The soldier hesitated, looking at the desperate Howell. Ignoring it was the right thing to do, but if he shook this guy off and left, he was sure to get into trouble.

If a smart guy harbored a grudge, he was bound to take revenge in some way.

"... Wait here."

Howell bit his lip and nodded slightly at the soldier's words. Howell did not capture any more soldiers.

He had already done all he could, and the soldier had shown that he had come to some extent by not roughly shaking him off or beating him up.

Howell slowly ate the bread, which was so hard it seemed like it would break his teeth, little by little, melting it in his mouth with his saliva.

He would have liked to feed it to Iriz, but he couldn't help it because she was completely unconscious and couldn't eat properly.

Now, Howell had to focus his energies on finding ways to survive by filling his stomach a little.