The Hidden Life Of The Trash

Prologue

In a certain county, a noble staggered down the street, a half-filled wine bottle in one hand. Any onlookers or passerby who took one look at him instantly recognized who he was and quickly scurried away, not wanting to get in his way which might result in being subjected to his wrath.

He was Cale Henituse, infamously renowned throughout the Roan Kingdom as the "Trash" of the Count's family.

He was only 18-years-old, yet is already known to have become a raging alcoholic at the age of 15. His face was flushed red, obviously from his usual daily drink. His movements were unsteady, looking as if he could fall over each with step he took.

And yet, his eyes were clear.

Cale's eyes discreetly observed each pebble on the ground so he would avoid it. He also took note of each person who was getting out of his way, his flushed face and wobbling form making it look as if he was too drunk to notice them.

Eventually, the known trash is walking towards a deserted street, a part of the slums that was mostly abandoned. No one bothered to check on him because a drunkard would often wander to random places. Even the gangsters of the county, who were the usual targets of his drunken wrath, wouldn't dare cross the young master.

That was why no one noticed how the young master's posture completely changed halfway into the abandoned street. Other than the redness of his face, the drunken trashy noble everyone in the county was used to seeing was nowhere to be seen.

Cale Henituse sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was definitely getting a hangover. Instead of staggering like he did just now, the redhead simply walked casually towards a dark alleyway, as he had never been drunk in the first place.

The alleyway was just as abandoned as the main street, no gangster or beggar in sight. Cale stood in front of the back of a small wooden house that looked no different from the rundown houses he had passed by a moment ago. At first glance, one would assume that it was an abandoned home if it weren't for the fact that smoke was coming out of the chimney. He grabbed the wooden handle and pushed open the door as he went inside.

"Hangover?"

Cale nodded, closing the door before walking over to the long fluffy couch and laying on it.

The interior of the house completely contrasted the worn down exterior. The inside of what was supposed to be a dirty house looked nearly just as clean, fancy and well-maintained as a noble's home, with most of the floor being covered by carpet.

The redhead looked up from a small clicking sound and a cup of tea being held above him.

"It's strawberry tea."

Mumbling a thanks, Cale took the cup of tea from the other man's hand and took a sip. He feels himself relaxing as the delightful sweet flavor washed away the sourness that remained in his tongue from the lemon tea that he unknowingly drank while still half-asleep this morning. Damn that Ron.

He handed the cup back to Verrill.

Verrill is a tall handsome man that is about to reach his mid-twenties, his muscular build being hidden by his clothes.

He is a mercenary whom Cale had encountered a year ago.

Verrill had been on the run after crossing his previous employer. The chase had wounded him and he used what little mana he had left to make himself invisible and hid in the nearest place he could find, Rain City.

For Cale, it had been a usual night of drinking until he found Verrill on the ground in an alleyway, a shaky hand clutching the stab wound in his abdomen.