Faust went to the village as usual, carrying a big sack filled with materials. At this point, he had a routine. He would hunt and sell pelts—now not just wolves. Since the winter was over, finding herbivores was no longer that difficult.
Then he would go to the inn and try to speak with the innkeeper, but she would just kick him out.
After that, he would buy fuel for his oil lamp and finally leave for the forest at night, alone.
Now, every time he went to the village, he would notice a couple of guards occasionally watching him. Most of them were young.
"So they finally suspect me..."
Faust thought, but he wasn't nervous about it. He had actually expected it to happen earlier. They had taken too long, probably because no one cared about beggars.
He repeated his routine for another week. This time, when he went into the woods, he would hear and notice two or three guards following him, trying to be stealthy. He didn't want to rush things, so he kept his bear away and had already destroyed the ritual area. Of course, the ritual had destroyed the bodies as well, so they wouldn't find anything.
He would simply sit down and lean against a tree, then sleep. The guards didn't stop following him from a distance. He would hunt using a wooden javelin with a stone point. It was much less efficient than using the bear, but he couldn't expose his trump card.
Another week passed, and the guards still didn't leave him alone. He was already annoyed at this point—his every movement was being watched.
While he was at a market stall selling some pelts, he was approached by a guard.
"Come with me," the guard said. His appearance was rough, and he was middle-aged. Scars on his hands showed as he touched Faust's shoulder.
Faust looked at him. Despite his bodily scars, he looked younger than his actual age, due to malnutrition. Eating only moss for a year hadn't been healthy. His height remained quite short, and his appearance still youthful.
"Why? What did I do?" he asked the guard, his expression unchanging.
"Doesn't matter. Come with me," the guard repeated, an annoyed tone in his voice.
"But I didn't do anything!" Faust protested.
"We have some questions, that's all. Please be cooperative," the guard said once again, starting to get angered.
Faust didn't resist further and simply followed the guard. Other guards were scattered across the street. He knew that if he tried to run away, he would eventually be caught and would have to reveal the bear. It was not ideal—the whole situation was not ideal.
As he walked, his mind was racing. He was genuinely confused. Why were they taking him somewhere? Had they found proof of his rituals? That was impossible. No bodies were left, and he had destroyed the area. Did they just suspect him for some other reason? He hadn't done anything suspicious under their watch.
They walked through the village, receiving strange looks.
Finally, they reached a wooden and stone building. It had a few windows, allowing a view inside. Inside, there were more people in guard uniforms—this was clearly their headquarters. The guard guided Faust inside and walked with him until they reached a set of stairs going downwards.
The other guards looked at him, some with smirks, others with anger, and a few even with disgust.
"Alright, hand over your weapons and items," the guard said.
Faust looked around. He was unarmed except for his cleaver. The room had at least fifteen guards; fighting back was obviously not an option. He handed it over quietly. The guard gave it to another, who took it away. He surrendered his almost empty leather sack and his coin pouch too. In total it had eighty one silver and a few copper coins.
Confusion filled his mind. He decided to ask, "Why did you bring me here?"
The guard looked down at him and said, "Just to ask some questions. Let's go downstairs."
Faust nodded and followed, convinced they had no evidence against him. Still, he was getting nervous, thinking over and over again if he had let anything slip.
Both of them descended the stairs and reached an underground area. It was dark and damp, resembling the cave—except this place was square, with three rooms divided by iron bars. It was a prison. A moldy, bloody stench filled the air, and the walls, though rough, were mostly even. There were no small windows for light or air to enter; it was completely closed. It was also empty — there was no one else there besides Faust and the guard.
The guard walked over to one of the rooms and opened the iron bar door. "Enter."
"What?! Why?" Faust questioned.
"Just enter. We will just ask some questions."
"No! It's clear you aren't just asking questions. Why are you trying to lock me up?"
As he sighed, the guard tried to grab Faust's arm, but he dodged it.
"You won't be able to escape. Just enter already, you little shit."
Faust's mind flashed with thoughts.
"There is no reason for them to lock me up here. I'm sure I didn't let anything slip—I'm sure of it! The bodies were eaten by the bear, the ritual was destroyed, the blood was washed away by rain. What did I miss?
"But he is right. I won't be able to escape. There are too many guards, and I'm alone. I'll have to follow his orders for now. Maybe he really will just ask some questions and let me go."
He walked inside the jail cell. It was small—if he lay down, he could almost touch across the room. The guard locked the door and smirked.
"Heh, a damned beggar giving us so much work. Let us rest a little," he said as he left the room.
When these words reached Faust's ears, his expression hardened. Anger surged within him. He screamed for over a minute, calling the guard back, but he was ignored. Eventually, he settled down and sat on the cold stone floor. He quickly understood the real reason he was there. It wasn't because he had let anything slip — it was something much stupider than that.
The village was a quiet place; rarely did anything happen. Although it was bigger and had more resources than his old village, this one was much quieter. There was a high chance the guards simply did nothing most of the time, maybe rarely defending the village against thieves or minor threats. Then suddenly, they were ordered to watch a suspicious kid who looked like a beggar but actually carried money with him.
They didn't want to work, and they had the perfect chance not to. Just lock him up and solve all their issues — and still get a bonus.
They had openly stolen from him, and he couldn't do anything about it. Logically speaking, he was right: he hadn't done anything to be caught for. But humanly speaking, his money stirred their greed, and his appearance was weak; it was easy to control him. He had little to no power.
Faust thought it over, a smile surfacing on his face. He was angry, but he actually found it quite funny. Humans weren't that much different from beasts after all. But instead of the strong simply devouring the weak, it was a little different.
The strong let the weak survive, let them reproduce, let them work and produce for the strong. They wouldn't devour them all at once but would slowly consume them, using them until death. The weak would then love certain strong individuals while hating others. They would love the strong who helped them but despise those who were indifferent, they would respect their equals, and either pity or disdain the ones below them.
That was the nature of humans — of most conscious living beings. Power determined value, and those without it, powerless to change their condition, crafted new values in its place. They called their weakness the true strength, a virtue, and labeled strength as cruelty. In their hearts bloomed resentment — a cold, festering hatred that twisted admiration into moral condemnation.
At the moment, Faust had no power, he was weak. For the guards and normal villagers, he was just another beggar off the streets. The guards would be applauded! The ignorant beggars would try to be sympathetic towards him, thinking, How unfair it is that he's locked up simply for having money! In truth, they felt empathy and fear — fear that they could end up in a similar situation. Meanwhile, those a step below would look up to him with envy, for even among the weak, there were hierarchies of misery.
That thought made Faust reflective. He had thought only logically before, but he had forgotten the human part. Now, he could understand it a little better. He became interested in it. Every time he interacted with humans before, they couldn't fully understand him. And though he still couldn't fully understand them either, he was able to pull back more of the veil than most.
At that moment, he lay down on the stone floor. His anger had already subsided. He gazed at the iron bars with a calm, serene expression, simply waiting.