Honkai Star Rail: I must live a peaceful life

Humans are creatures of memory. Past traumas linger long after the body has healed and the pain has faded—the soul still bears its scars. When these familiar marks are touched, they ache once more.

Like a dried riverbed waiting for heavy rain to restore its endless flow of yesteryear.

Of course, strip away all this literary rhetoric, and the principle remains simple: once bitten by a snake, one fears even rope for ten years.

In the past, these energetic young street toughs, eager to clash with their opponents, would never have tolerated such an atmosphere-breaking interruption. They wouldn't have bothered with mere pointed looks at their leader.

Back then, these active members would have given these uninvited strangers a demonstration of the unique artistic language that flourished in York's Outer District's chaotic zone. Those with shorter tempers might have even resorted to violence.

But people learn from their lessons, especially when two incidents share such striking parallels in their beginnings.

Last time, that seemingly gentle but actually brutal priest in white robes appeared just as suddenly during their meeting, politely inquiring about suitable locations for building a church.

Back then, Brother Wolf was still a fierce hothead. When his attempts to drive the priest away failed, he prepared to use force, hurling particularly loud threats.

That time, his rudeness earned him a beating that left him pinned to the ground, vomiting up the lamb skewers he'd eaten earlier. His favorite clothes were ruined, dragged through the dirt until they were barely recognizable. The mixture of soil, dust, and acidic meat residue could have passed for a biochemical weapon. Worse still, those clothes were particularly difficult to clean...

No one knows how Brother Wolf managed to clean those clothes, but they do know that after that incident, he developed such a strong psychological aversion to lamb that he'd rather eat grass cakes than touch anything containing mutton.

With such a harsh lesson fresh in their minds, no one dared to act as confrontational as before. Even the most stubborn among them wouldn't risk betting that such an unlikely event wouldn't happen twice. And before any such hopeful yet reluctant thoughts could surface, they were immediately extinguished by those three words: "Rain Leaf Road."

After all, for groups like theirs that relied on neighborhood support for activity funds, Rain Leaf Road was, in a sense, forbidden territory.

Among their circles, there was a widely circulated saying:

"Go to New District to make it big, stay in Old District to slack off, go to Rain Leaf Road if you're tired of living."

Unlike the majority who were ordinary people, those who could maintain long-term residence on Rain Leaf Road were truly extraordinary... at least non-human entities who had reached Tier One.

Though Tier One might sound weak, with its civilian title of "Candlelight" that doesn't seem impressive at first glance, it all depends on the standard of comparison.

Compared to mountains and peaks, a small hill might seem insignificant, but to ordinary people, it's still an imposing presence.

Take today's confrontation, for example. Despite the large number of people present, only Brother Wolf and the red-haired woman, the two leaders, truly mattered. Everyone else was just there for show.

If they wanted to, either of them could easily take down all the capable fighters among their subordinates, excluding each other. It wouldn't even take much time.

Yet even these individuals, so powerful in the eyes of ordinary people, were mere fireflies in the eyes of Rain Leaf Road's residents—just beginners who had barely grasped supernatural powers, lucky if they could qualify for residency in two or three years.

"Um, may I ask what business you have at Rain Leaf Road?" Brother Wolf startled, his tone exceptionally polite and careful. One couldn't be too cautious when it came to Rain Leaf Road.

"I have a property there, but I've never been to this area and don't know the way. Could you tell me how to get there?" Miss Jessica's voice was sweet and gentle; combined with her beautiful appearance, she was like a dove of peace.

"Yes, yes, I know the way." Brother Wolf nodded repeatedly, the lock of hair hanging in front of his face swaying back and forth.

He turned to look at the red-haired woman on the other side, furrowing his brow. "We'll let this go for today, but this isn't over. You just wait."

"Fine by me, I'll be waiting." Mia smiled triumphantly. After all, she wasn't the one with the embarrassing history. She waved to her people behind her. "Everyone disperse, go home and get some rest."

"And you lot, what are you standing around for? Get moving!" She swung her bat in a circle, intimidating the opposing underlings. Wolf Gang's miscellaneous troops, not yet processing that their own boss hadn't spoken and that orders were coming from the opposing leader, scattered like birds at the command.

"Damn, bunch of unreliable ones," Brother Wolf laughed with irritation at his fleeing subordinates. But he wasn't truly angry, seeming well aware of what kind of people he had under him.

"Just a moment, please." He smiled ingratiatingly, jogging over to pick up the clothes he'd removed before the fight and putting them back on, covering the extensive tattoos on his body. Surprisingly, he achieved something close to a respectable appearance.

Perhaps too respectable—checkered shirt with a vest, add a towel over his shoulder and he could pass for a waiter in a low-end tavern. The kind that proper hotels would reject for poor presentation.

Miss Jessica's gaze grew peculiar. Unlike Miro, she wasn't unfamiliar with undercity gangs, but she'd never seen such... low-grade gang members.

Earlier when Miro called them "energetic social groups," Miss Jessica thought it was some kind of special terminology. Now she realized they really were only qualified to be called social groups.

Miro remained completely calm, having seen similar situations during his wanderings in this area two or three years ago.

Unlike the undercity that grew from a prosperous metropolis, York City was among the first pioneer cities of the frontier era, with sufficient history and enough old-timers clinging to the past.

The Outer District was a proper frontier city hundreds of years ago. While its infrastructure was old, its quality far exceeded the hastily constructed outer districts. Reckless demolition would have meant significant resource waste. Combined with certain people's demands, this retirement zone was preserved after removing various dangerous facilities.

This wasn't unique to York City—all first-generation frontier cities shared a similar pattern.

In a sense, calling it the "Freeloading Outer District" wasn't entirely a joke.

End of Chapter