The Envoy of Abundance from Onphalus

　They were miners, or they used to be. Their eyes were sunken and their pupils were numb, and their bony ribs were clearly visible beneath their tattered and thin clothing.

　Intense coughing echoed throughout the room; it was the relentless torment of them by pulmonary emphysema caused by long-term inhalation of mine dust.

　There were also some people, their limbs twisted and deformed, staring blankly at the filthy ceiling; they were former stars of the Scott Boxing Gym.

　After squeezing out the last bit of value from them, the gym owner discarded them here like waste.

　Living here is a long form of torture.

　Russell's arrival was silent and unnoticed; his warm, emerald light was like a pebble thrown into stagnant water, causing little to no ripple.

　The people in the shack only slightly turned their cloudy eyes to glance at the silver-haired figure emerging from the light, and then returned to deathly silence.

　Curiosity? Hope? These were luxuries for them. Getting up to investigate? Even less necessary.

　Death might be more anticipated than this endless torment.

　Russell's gaze swept across this land of despair, finally settling on a tent that could only be called a home, made of tattered tarpaulin and scrap metal sheets.

　An old man was huddled there, his skin dark and rough like old tree bark, his sunken eyes bloodshot, and his body emaciated.

　His withered, twig-like hands were struggling to break open a piece of synthetic dough that was harder than a rock.

　Beside him, a child wrapped in tattered rags and thin clothes huddled on the cold stone ground, his face flushed red, his lips cracked and chapped, uttering weak, incomprehensible murmurs.

　The old man sensed someone approaching. He raised his cloudy eyes and swept them over Russell's neat clothes and extraordinary demeanor, which clearly did not belong here. His eyes showed no fluctuation, only a numbness like stagnant water.

　He lowered his head and continued to struggle with the hard biscuit, as if it were the only important thing in the world.

　Russell ignored the aloofness that kept people at arm's length. He crouched down, his gaze falling on the feverish child. His voice, calm yet clear, pierced the surrounding silence: "This child, if we don't treat him soon, he won't make it through the night."

　The old man's hand suddenly stopped, and he stiffly raised his head. His chapped lips trembled, and he hoarsely squeezed out a few words: "Doctor...?"

　The faint spark went out instantly. He waved his hand dejectedly, as if shooing away an annoying fly, "Go...go. We can't afford the medicine...don't come...don't bother us..."

　Every word conveyed a deep weariness and resignation.

　"I don't accept money."

　Russell's voice remained gentle, yet carried an undeniable authority: "Moreover, the clinic's medicine is probably no longer effective for him."

　"No...no money required?"

　An incredulous glint suddenly flashed in the old man's cloudy eyes. He stared intently at Russell, as if trying to discern whether his words were true or false.

　He struggled to stand up, but due to weakness and excitement, he stumbled and almost fell onto the cold, hard ground. His withered hands trembled as he reached for Russell's clothes, yet dared not touch him: "Really... really can he save me? You... you're not lying to this old man?"

　"Do you think there's anything else about you that I would lie to?"

　The boy's smile lingered on his face, and his compassionate nature permeated the cold and desolate preparatory cemetery.

　"Please! Save him! Save my grandson! I... I, Joey... I'll do anything for you! I still have strength... I can still go down the mine! Don't let my thin appearance fool you, I'm incredibly strong..."

　Old Joey's voice was choked with sobs, bursting forth with his last ounce of strength in despair.

　"I said I wouldn't charge you."

　Russell reached out and firmly supported old Joey's trembling arm. A gentle life force quietly flowed in, bringing a touch of warmth to the old man's almost exhausted body.

　He gently helped the old man back to a place where he could lean on something, saying, "Just keep an eye on him."

　This scene, like a boulder thrown into truly stagnant water, finally stirred up ripples in the numb crowd.

　"Who is old man Joey begging?"

　"A... doctor? He said he wouldn't charge?"

　"It can't be real... There's no such thing as a free lunch. Only Dr. Natasha could do that without charging a fee..."

　"Judging from their appearance... they don't seem to be from Rocky Town. They couldn't possibly be from the Upper District, could they?..."

　"His clothes...are so clean...it must be..."

　Whispers arose from the surrounding tents, and gazes filled with doubt, indifference, or a faint glimmer of hope focused on Russell and his grandson, Old Joey.

　Russell seemed oblivious to the surrounding chatter. He walked to the feverish child, ignoring the filth on the ground, and knelt on one knee. He extended his long, slender fingers and gently brushed away the child's sweat-dampened bangs.

　A soft, vibrant green light shone from his fingertips, like the first tender leaf breaking through the soil in spring. The light followed his fingertips and gently seeped into the child's burning forehead.

　A miracle unfolded before everyone's eyes.

　The child's rapid and painful breathing subsided visibly. The sickly flush on his face seemed to be wiped away by an invisible hand, fading quickly and restoring the pale but healthy complexion that a child should have.

　His furrowed brows relaxed, and his painful murmurs ceased; instead, he seemed to have fallen into a peaceful, sweet dream.

　Old Joey covered his mouth tightly, and turbid tears welled up uncontrollably, rolling down the deep furrows of his face. He dared not make a sound, for fear of disturbing this dreamlike scene.

　The whispers around them disappeared, replaced by a deathly silence of shock.

　Everyone stared wide-eyed in disbelief at the child who had been struggling on the brink of death just a moment ago, now sleeping so peacefully.

　"The high fever has subsided, and the phlegm in the lungs has been cleared."

　Russell withdrew his hand and stated calmly, "Let him get a good night's sleep, and give him some warm water when he wakes up. And this piece of bread,"

　He pointed to the hard object in Old Joey's hand, "Don't give it to him for now, it's too hard."

　As he spoke, a flash of emerald light appeared in his hand, and several plump, round fruits exuding a sweet fragrance materialized out of thin air, which he gently placed in Old Joey's trembling hand.

　"Give this to him when he wakes up."

　Old Joey held those fruits he had never seen before, fruits that seemed to contain the essence of life, as if he were holding the most precious treasure in the world. He could only nod repeatedly, choking back tears and unable to utter a complete sentence.

　"next."

　Russell stood up, his gaze calmly sweeping over the faces peering out from the shacks, faces filled with longing, doubt, and humble pleading. "Who still needs healing?"

　After a brief silence, it was like a dam collapsing.

　If a perilous journey awaiting death were to reveal a path to survival, most people would choose survival over death without hesitation.

　"Doctor... Doctor! Please take a look at my man! He was hit in the leg by a rock at the mine, and the wound is festering..."

　"My child is coughing up blood! Please help!"

　"My arm... it's been hurting terribly ever since I ruined it at the boxing gym, it feels like it's broken..."

　People struggled, supporting each other, even crawling, surging from their corners of despair toward the figure radiating warm green light.

　Numbness was broken, deathly silence was dispelled, and for the first time, a glimmer of hope shone so vividly into this forgotten corner.

　Russell was like the center of a calm vortex, surrounded by pain and pleading, his emerald eyes reflecting every desperate face.

　The light at his fingertips kept shining, like tiny but tenacious lamps of life being lit in this perpetually frozen land.

　……

　Chapter 102 Sambo's Butt.

　The biting wind whipped snowflakes against the protective suits of the three pioneers. In this vast, seemingly endless white snowfield, a slightly trembling snowdrift stood out starkly.

　"Hello--!"

　March 7th moved closer, her voice sounding a little weak in the howling wind, "Don't hide! We're not bad people! Look how cold you are, come out!"

　Her tone was somewhat coaxing, trying to convey goodwill.

　The snowdrift remained motionless; only the slight shivering caused by the cold proved that there was indeed a living creature hidden inside, seemingly determined to play dead to the very end.

　Xing's gaze was fixed on the suspicious snowdrift, and a bold (or rather, somewhat unethical) idea popped into her head.

　Just then, a wickedly cheerful voice, seemingly resonating directly inside the skull, seduced:

　"Kick him! Kick him hard! Trust me, Aha guarantees—after you kick him, the next five trash cans you open will definitely contain gems! No kidding!"

　Xing's pupils lit up instantly! Trash can! Premium item! Aha's guarantee (though it doesn't sound very reliable)!

　This deal seems like... a sure thing? After all, kicking a snowdrift won't hurt you!

　"Ah Xing, wait! Let's eliminate the danger first..."

　Dan Heng keenly noticed the change in Xing's eyes and immediately spoke up to stop him. He had already raised the long spear in his hand, preparing to cautiously thrust it forward to investigate.

　However, Xing was faster! She took a step back and prepared herself with a standard pioneer-style running start.

　Then—with a touch of experimental excitement, he kicked the snowdrift hard!

　"Ouch-ouch!!!"

　A piercing, heart-wrenching scream instantly drowned out the wind! The snowdrift exploded, and a man wearing a flashy blue coat and sporting messy blue hair rolled out like a kicked ball, awkwardly plowing a deep furrow in the snow.

　He clutched his buttocks, wincing in pain, tears welling in his eyes.

　"Ouch! My... my butt! Good heavens!"

　Sambo's face contorted in pain as he gasped for breath.

　"Hey everyone! Is this really necessary? What grudge do you hold against me? I was just out in the snow because it was cold, what did I ever do to deserve this? This kick is way too much!"

　He rubbed his backside and hopped around, his eyes full of accusation, while inwardly he was furiously complaining: "Ouch... that kick! Boss Aha must be watching me make fun of him! Definitely!"

　The trio instantly went on high alert. Dan Heng's Cloud Strike was steadily aimed at Sang Bo, his eyes sharp as knives.

　On March 7th, hands on hips, his face clearly saying, "This guy is suspicious."

　Xing blinked, seemingly savoring the sensation of that kick and silently planning which trash cans to find to verify Aha's promise.

　The man in front of me had that slick and flippant tone, that fake smile on his face that looked like it was welded on, and that mercenary yet slightly eccentric air about him. All of these combined to give off an impression of utter unreliability and distrust.

　"Uh...hehe,"

　Sambo forced a more genuine smile, attempting to ease the awkwardness and wariness in the air.

　"Don't...don't be so serious! As the saying goes, 'No fight, no friendship!' Isn't this fate? I'm truly honored to meet all of you heroes today! Haha, haha..."

　He chuckled dryly a few times and noticed that the suspicion on the faces of the three people opposite him had not lessened but had actually deepened.

　The ensuing exchange was utterly nonsensical. Sambo began to launch into a long-winded introduction, claiming to be "Belloberg's most honest reseller," making a living through "information asymmetry" and "flexible business tactics."

　He described the current state of Yalilo-VI with great enthusiasm: a frozen world, a fractured city, and stern Silvermane Iron Guards...

　However, the trio was bombarded with questions one after another.

　"Who is in charge of Bellenberg now?"

　"What exactly are you referring to when you say 'small business'?"

　How do I get to Belleburg?

　……

　Sangbo was sweating profusely from the questioning, his smile almost crumbling: "Stop, stop, stop! Guys, ladies! Can we take a break? Are you interrogating a prisoner?"

　"Old Sambo, although I may not look like a good person, I have a good heart! I'm warm-hearted! You all distrust me so much, I... I feel so cold inside!"

　He exaggeratedly clutched his chest, feigning heartbreak.

　To prove his worth and professionalism, Sambo abruptly changed the subject and began enthusiastically sharing his "survival tips."

　He became more and more excited as he spoke, as if he were sharing profound life lessons. Although most of them were fallacies, he was clearly engrossed in them.

　March 7th rolled his eyes and couldn't help but interrupt, "Stop! Halt! We have absolutely no interest in your business secrets! Take us to Belleburg! Now! Immediately! Right now!"

　She stomped her feet, which were numb from the cold.

　Dan Heng didn't speak, but with a slight flick of his wrist, the cold tip of his spear, Ji Yun, reflected a chilling light in the wind and snow, silently pointing towards Sang Bo's inevitable path. The meaning was clear: Enough talk, lead the way, or else…

　Sambo shrank back, his smile instantly turning into one of complete submissiveness: "Oh dear! Look at the mess this has made! Lead the way? No problem! Leave it to old Sambo!"

　"I'd go to any lengths for a friend! Come with me! I guarantee I'll get you all safely and quickly to the gates of Beloborg! But—"

　He lowered his voice, glancing around mysteriously, "Stay close to me, don't fall behind! Walk quietly! Those guards aren't pushovers. If they catch us, we're all finished!"

　So, led by Sangbo, the three of them trudged through the snow and wind.

　Sambo's mouth was still busy, he kept babbling on and on:

　"Sigh, think about me, old Sangbo, an honest merchant who values ​​integrity above all else, how did I end up on the wanted list? All I did was deal in a few... uh, a few hundred... folk crafts with historical research value! Is it really necessary to issue a city-wide warrant? In this world, it's hard to be a good person..."

　"You guys have no idea, that big customer last time, tsk tsk, he was incredibly stingy..."

　"Look over there! That ice cliff is absolutely stunning! It's just a bit windy, though, and it could easily blow someone off..."

　Xing listened with great interest, finding the story quite interesting despite the guy's tendency to exaggerate.

　Danheng remained silent throughout, cautiously observing his surroundings and Sangbo's every little movement. March 7th, on the other hand, wore a "I don't believe you" expression and occasionally urged him to hurry up.

　Just as Sambo was pointing to the faint outline of the massive city walls in the distance, describing with great enthusiasm the "hospitality of the people of Beloborg"—