ARCANE:Diary of a Zaun Lunatic

"PS: If you find any mistakes, please leave a comment."

Finally, the two gang leaders regained their senses. They panted heavily, glancing around at the scene of chaos. Both wore expressions of unwilling defeat as they saw their injured subordinates writhing on the ground in agony.

Continuing to fight would only deepen their losses. It was time to stop this from spiraling further.

"This ends here today! Next time, I'll settle the score!" the one-eyed leader spat venomously before signaling his remaining standing men to help the wounded retreat.

Durin wiped the sweat off his brow and unwrapped the cloth around his right hand. The short blade he wielded was already soaked with blood.

Watching the retreating figures of the Centipede Gang, he finally felt a wave of relief. Just then, the small-time leader responsible for roll call approached him, patting him on the shoulder with a look of surprise.

"Didn't expect you to be such a good fighter. Those unfamiliar faces from earlier? They were definitely trained professionals from elsewhere. Not bad, not bad. Next time there's trouble like this, I'll make sure you're notified first. Don't worry—your hazard pay will double. And if it gets rough, I'll make sure the reward for each takedown doubles too!"

As he spoke, the man pulled a small, weighty pouch of copper coins from his pocket. He counted out twelve coins and stuffed the pouch into Durin's hand. "By the way, where do you live?" he asked.

"Uh… I live in the slums of Ninth Avenue, mid-block in Alley 56, House 4, second floor, Room 2," Durin replied after some thought.

The leader frowned slightly, pondering for a moment before responding, "That's Roland's turf, isn't it? Fine, I'll have Roland inform you next time there's work like this!"

Durin weighed the pouch in his hand—88 copper coins in total. Based on what the leader said earlier, if his pay doubled in the future and he took down another gang opponent like today, he could earn an additional 160 copper coins.

That would amount to 1.6 silver wheels—a substantial figure. The more opponents he defeated, the more he'd earn.

Excitement flickered in Durin's heart as he thought about similar opportunities in the future. But he quickly warned himself not to get carried away. Today, luck had been on his side. Next time, it might not be.

In Zaun, overconfidence often led to disastrous outcomes.

The mention of Roland's name also confirmed Durin's suspicions—it was likely the name of the man who had come to announce the rent hike last night.

Satisfied there were no loose ends, Durin carefully tucked the coin pouch into his inner pocket and said, "I'll be heading off now."

"Go on, then!"

The roll-call leader waved him off before turning to leave himself.

Durin wiped his blade clean with a scrap of cloth, wrapped it back up, and tucked it securely at his waist, hiding the hilt under his jacket. Then he left Sixth Avenue.

Leaving Sixth Avenue, Durin made his way toward Ninth Avenue.

On the way, he recalled earning a specialization point for single-handed weapons.

He opened the system interface, considering the two passive abilities available to him:

[Swift Strike]: +2% attack speed for single-handed weapons. When you're wanted, increases friendliness from criminals by +0.5.

[Critical Precision]: +5% damage with axes and staffs. If you hold a law enforcement role, increases public safety in your jurisdiction by +0.5.

Durin hesitated. The speed boost from Swift Strike would give him an edge in fights. On the other hand, Critical Precision suggested a future path as a law enforcer—but in Zaun, there were no such positions.

Survival in Zaun's harsh underworld was his priority. Strengthening his abilities was the only way forward.

With resolve, Durin chose [Swift Strike] as his passive ability.

Immediately, the exhaustion from the gang fight melted away. His body felt invigorated—though hunger now gnawed at him fiercely.

Joining the flow of people, Durin entered the marketplace. He didn't rush to buy anything, instead exploring to familiarize himself with the prices in the area.

Zaun's markets, despite their chaotic surroundings, reminded him of rural town fairs from decades past. There were storefronts and street stalls selling a dizzying array of goods.

Most items were unfamiliar to him, though he watched with curiosity. One stall displayed the carcass of a skinned beast—four meters long—being rapidly butchered by the vendor, who loudly advertised its sale.

"What kind of meat is this?" Durin asked, intrigued.

"White-eyed tiger from Ionia. Freshly killed last night. Perfect for making soup—guaranteed to have your women howling in joy! Just 2 silver wheels per pound. Want to try some?"

Durin turned and walked away without a word.

What a joke! Two silver wheels for a pound of meat? No matter how miraculous it claimed to be, that price was outrageous.

Further down, a fishmonger called out to him. "Fresh striped bass! Special deal for you, handsome—10 copper coins each, buy three, get one free!"

"What's the price?"

"10 copper each—hey, don't walk away! You can bargain if it's too expensive!"

Durin, painfully aware of his limited funds, pretended to stay composed as he wandered the stalls. He quickly realized his 15 copper coins wouldn't stretch far in this marketplace. Defeated, he decided to head back to the slums for cheaper provisions.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside the market, drawing everyone's attention. Curious, the crowd abandoned their tasks to investigate.

The noise grew louder—shouts, arguments, even screams.

Durin stepped outside just in time to see a group approaching from down the street. They entered shops along the way, prompting outbursts of anger and fear. Objects were thrown, women screamed, and chaos spread.

The crowd murmured uneasily, sensing the newcomers were searching for someone or something.

As they came into view, the crowd gasped. Durin saw their attire—bulky blue-and-black armored uniforms.

"Damn it, Piltover's enforcers are here!" someone cursed.

"Get lost! Zaun doesn't welcome your kind!" another shouted.

Durin instinctively adjusted his jacket to better hide the hilt of his blade.

The enforcers wore heavy armor designed to enhance their strength and offer some protection. Their gas masks, modified from reusable filters, shielded them from Zaun's noxious air—a stark contrast to the locals, who were accustomed to its thickness.

"This filthy, choking air! How do these sewer rats even live here?" one enforcer muttered, yanking a scrawny man off the street by his collar.

"Tell me—where are the kids responsible for the explosion?" the enforcer barked.

"What explosion? What kids?" the man stammered, utterly baffled.

"No questions!"

The enforcer casually threw him onto the middle of the street, pressing a boot against his head with an air of indifference. "Don't play dumb! You gutter vermin must have hidden those kids somewhere!"

"I... I really don't know..." The thin man underfoot struggled desperately, his voice strained.

"Stop wasting time with them. Seal the shops!"

A lean officer, evidently the captain, held a clipboard as he calmly gave the order.

At his command, the enforcers pounced like hyenas, storming into the nearby shops. They dragged the occupants out, shut the doors, and slapped heavy seals across them.

"Who the hell gave you the right to do this?" a furious man shouted from the crowd. "This is Zaun!"

"Whether we have the right isn't for you to decide."

The captain's cold eyes met the man's, his voice rendered gravelly and ominous through the filtration mask he wore.

"You trying to accuse me?"

The man caught the implied threat and angrily tried to lunge forward. But before he could, a burly enforcer elbowed him from behind, locking him in a chokehold. He struggled in vain.

"Restrain them!"

The captain barked an order to his team, adding, "No fatalities."

No fatalities.

The phrase carried a double meaning—either as a warning to exercise restraint or, more insidiously, as permission to go as far as they liked as long as it didn't kill anyone.

To these Piltover enforcers, who had always looked down on Zaunites, the latter interpretation was obvious.

One enforcer drew a standard-issue baton, glaring menacingly at the restless Zaunite crowd. Any sign of defiance would earn a swift and brutal response.

The oppressive atmosphere stifled the unrest for now. After all, in Zaun, an injury that left you bedridden for weeks often meant losing your livelihood entirely.

"Accuse me? Fool! Do you think you're a Piltie? No court would even consider your complaints!"

The captain stepped up to the man in the chokehold and delivered a gut-wrenching punch. As the man doubled over, the captain cast a steely gaze over the gathered onlookers.

"Listen up! None of you gutter rats are innocent. Hand over those kids quickly, or I'll be back—and next time, it'll be worse!"

With a dismissive wave, he led his squad down the avenue, leaving a trail of fear and resentment in their wake.

The crowd dispersed slowly, muttering in confusion. Who were these children the enforcers were so desperate to find? Why had they come to Zaun?

Durin slipped away from the scene, his steps quickening as he exited the Sixth Avenue and cut through narrow alleys to return home. Trouble was the last thing he wanted.

After about an hour of weaving through the maze-like streets, he reached Ninth Avenue and entered the slums. Familiar smells of cooking wafted through the air. It was around five o'clock, and families were preparing their modest dinners.

Durin climbed to the second floor of a run-down two-story building, fishing for his keys as he approached his door. Just as he was about to unlock it, the neighboring door creaked open.

A cautious face peeked out—it was his neighbor, a young woman. Spotting him, she whispered, "Mr. Durin, you haven't eaten yet, have you? I made too much dinner. It'd be a shame to waste it. Join me?"

Durin hesitated, recognizing the offer for what it truly was. She was hoping to ask him for money again.

Sensing his reluctance, she quickly added, "I just wanted to share a meal. That's all."

At that moment, his stomach betrayed him with a loud grumble.

Durin sighed and decided not to reject her kindness. "Alright, thank you."

Her face lit up with a smile, and she eagerly swung the door open wider.

As night fell, the smell of cooked food filled the cramped room. An oil lamp hung on the wall, casting a faint, warm glow.

On a small wooden table sat the evening meal: wild vegetable porridge, a millet flatbread, and fish soup.

The portions revealed her intentions—Durin's porridge was thickest, his flatbread the largest, and his soup brimming with chunks of fish.

For someone in the slums, such a meal was almost extravagant. Durin estimated it cost at least 12 copper minnows, double her usual fare when she offered to share.

"Eat up," she said softly.

"Thanks," Durin replied, picking up the bowl.

He took a large gulp of the porridge and bit into the flatbread. Though coarse and gritty, it had become a taste he had grown accustomed to after months of hardship.

The woman ate sparingly, savoring every bite.

As they ate, a heavy silence lingered.

"Life's been getting harder and harder," she finally sighed.

Durin didn't respond, focusing on his food.

"The rent's gone up, food prices too. And now the tavern owner's hired a younger, prettier girl. He wants to fire me. I begged him, and he gave me one month to find a new job. But he slashed my pay to a single silver cog..." Her voice cracked, and tears welled up as she spoke.

Durin finished his meal quickly, placing the empty bowl on the table. He reached into his pocket and pulled out six copper coins, arranging them neatly in a line.

"You don't need to cover this meal," he said softly. "Zaun will get through this. We just need to hold on a little longer."

The words offered little comfort. She lowered her head and quietly resumed eating, tears silently falling into her bowl.