"Bastard!"
In a dilapidated orphanage, on a dirty and chaotic street, a burly man grabs a brown-haired boy and throws him to the ground.
The bread the boy had just gotten rolled to the side and was covered in a layer of dust.
Immediately afterwards, the violent man spat on the boy, kicked him over, and began to beat and abuse him mercilessly.
The boy covered his head with his hands, curled up in the corner, and groaned a few times. His back, chest, and neck were covered in bruises.
Seeing this, none of the orphanage staff offered any help. On the contrary, they watched the spectacle with a deep sense of disgust towards the boy.
Those living at the very bottom of society are the slaves who have been deprived of their rights (slaves have no human rights).
These so-called orphanages, ostensibly established in response to the nation's call and out of humanitarian spirit, were in reality hubs for trafficking young children, generating considerable profits annually.
The enormous profits involved, coupled with the covert support from various forces, enabled many orphanages to be established successfully.
The boy was born with a disability, paralyzed in one leg, and had an ordinary appearance. He had very little interaction with his peers, which led to him being abandoned in an orphanage. No family wanted to buy an unhealthy child with their limited funds, which greatly reduced the boy's value. Under the special treatment of the upper class, his daily food consisted of nothing more than a hard breadcrumb.
To survive, he often stole food from the bakery next door, barely managing to stay alive.
But unbelievably, he maintained his principles and refused to take food from younger children.
The sky was a pale gray, shrouded in gloom, as if covered by a layer of human suffering, or like the skin of a terminally ill patient on the verge of death—withered, lifeless, and nauseating.
"You slut! How dare you steal my food! You have a death wish!"
The man hurled insults and spittle at the boy until he gradually fell silent. The boy's paralyzed thigh, already injured, bled from the festering skin. Only then did the man reluctantly withdraw his fists and feet.
"Heh, it feels so good to have beaten you up. You're such a useless piece of trash, that's all you're good for."
The man laughed loudly, his gaze falling on the bread that had fallen to the ground, and he frowned slightly.
"What bad luck to run into such a little bastard," the man muttered, and turned to walk away.
The boy trembled slightly, reaching out eagerly to place his hand on the bread, but a shadow fell from above.
"Snap!"
A sharp cracking sound rang out as a boot slammed down on the hand holding the bread, crushing it into dust.
"You've ruined my mood, and you still expect to have food... Heh." The man turned back again, finding pleasure in the suffering of others.
"Stop! Are you crazy? That's the gentleman the Earl once served! Don't leave a bad impression on him in front of the orphanage."
Just then, one of the man's companions patted him on the shoulder and pulled him aside.
"Heh, you're lucky. I'll let you off this time."
Before leaving, the man cursed again, then left with his companion in a cheerful mood.
"Waaah..."
After realizing the man had really left, the boy's hands trembled, and the rather stiff bread had already turned to powder.
But he carefully ate the breadcrumbs. Perhaps this time the effort and reward were disproportionate. To ordinary people, the energy digested from that dusty bread couldn't repair his injuries; it seemed like a foolish act.
In a few months, or even half a month, the boy will likely die from his injuries.
"What a special talent, to be able to draw power while staying close to the ground... This orphanage, huh."
An ornately decorated old man stood in front of the boy and murmured something.
The priest wore a moon-white robe embroidered with a majestic and striking red, with gold thread trimming the edges, making no attempt to conceal his noble status.
"My lord, you are infusing the Divine Court with fresh blood, why bother with this cripple..."
The official beside him, who had been sent by the Earl to receive the important figure, reminded him.
"No, I think he's pretty good."
The old man squatted down and watched with satisfaction as the boy wolfed down the breadcrumbs. He finished the breadcrumbs in two or three bites, but the hard, dry bread made him cough a few times.
Food should not be wasted, especially food that you earned yourself.
"Child, would you like to come with me? I have plenty of fresh bread over there."
The old man patted his shoulder, and a gentle force helped him recover, gradually healing his injuries.
"You are... I'm willing."
The boy looked up, about to ask a question, but suddenly agreed to the old man's request.
Perhaps it was the old man's clear and kind eyes, that benevolent gaze, that reminded him of the happy family on the street, the grandfather who loved his child dearly.
Although he has had no relatives since he was old enough to understand things.
"You want to ask my name, um, my name..."
The old man frowned, as if he had forgotten his own name in his old age: "Actually, I don't remember it either."
But the old man smiled slightly, reached out and grasped the boy's hand: "However, you can call me James... no, well, just call me Nord, Nord James."
"Of course, if you have the potential to become a trainee knight in the training camp and truly join the Divine Court, you can directly call me... Bishop."
The old man had kind eyes and smiled.
That smile, however, will forever remain deep in the boy's heart.
...
“Brian, I believed in you. Oh, thank you, my great Lord, we are truly destined to be together… Congratulations, Brian, on officially becoming a member of the Divine Court.”
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