Allie looked down at Greg, who was lying on her lap. Her dark-gold hair fell messily across his cheeks, rising and falling gently with his breaths.
Greg was asleep—or rather, he had fainted from sheer exhaustion.
He had sprinted all the way from the dungeon entrance to the depths of the second layer without a single pause, and in the end, he had poured every ounce of his strength into unleashing that World-Devouring Black Flame.
Even though his Constitution was now far superior to that of an ordinary person, such extreme exertion was enough to force his body to shut down.
“You foolish young master...”
Allie stared at his peaceful sleeping face, a complex wave of emotion welling up in her heart.
This was not the first time she had been saved by this foolish young master of hers.
She reached out, gently brushing the stray hairs away from his cheek, her fingertips lingering on his warm skin for a brief moment.
Memories flooded her mind like a rising tide, sweeping her back to an afternoon from many years ago.
It was a rainy autumn day.
Twelve-year-old Allie was squatting in the corner of a filthy alleyway, leaning against the wall and idly poking at the ground with a tree branch.
She wore a faded, worn-out dress, her dark-gold hair casually tied back, and a light dusting of dirt on her face. She looked like any ordinary street urchin.
But anyone who underestimated her because of her appearance would be making a grave mistake.
“You brat, remember this!”
A few thugs hobbled backward toward the alley entrance, supporting one another. Their leader, clutching his bleeding nose, glared back at Allie with a fierce look and spat out a classic loser's threat:
“Don't let me catch you next time! Or else you're dead!”
Allie yawned, her tone thoroughly indifferent.
“Next time? You think you'll have a next time? I held back just now. Otherwise, you'd be lying in a clinic right now instead of standing here talking to me.”
The thugs' faces paled, but they ultimately lacked the courage to throw back another threat. Scrambling and dragging one another, they fled the alley in a panic.
Only then did Allie toss the branch aside and clap the dirt off her hands.
“Th-Thank you, young lady...”
The merchant, whom Allie had just saved from the thugs, thanked her with a trembling voice. He fumbled in his robes and pulled out a few copper coins, trying to press them into her hand.
“Please take this small amount... as a token of my gratitude...”
But Allie waved him off and turned to leave. “No need. I was just looking for some fun.”
Clutching the copper coins, the merchant stared at her small, slender back as it disappeared into the curtain of rain at the end of the alley, completely speechless.
Allie crossed several streets, turned into an even more dilapidated alleyway, and stopped before a wooden door with peeling paint.
A crooked wooden sign hung above the doorframe, bearing the words “Dawn Orphanage.” The writing had faded so badly it was almost illegible.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Several children playing in the courtyard cheered the moment they saw her and immediately swarmed around her.
“Sister Allie is back!”
“Sister Allie! Did you beat up any bad guys today?”
“Sister Allie is so amazing!”
Allie reached out to ruffle the hair of the child closest to her, a rare smile gracing her lips. “Just knocked down a few blind thugs. It's no big deal.”
“Wow! Sister Allie is the best!”
The children grew even more excited, jumping and skipping around her.
Just then, an elderly man with white hair walked out of the building.
He wore a faded, worn-out robe, his face deeply lined with wrinkles, yet his eyes remained warm and bright.
Seeing Allie, he first let out a sigh of relief before straightening his expression, speaking in a helpless tone, “Allie, did you go out fighting again?”
Allie shrugged. “They were bullying someone first. I just lent a hand.”
The director sighed and shook his head.
“I know you are a good girl, but you must also think of your own safety. You are only twelve years old. Stop acting like an adult all the time.”
Allie did not argue, simply giving a quiet grunt of agreement.
She knew the director cared about her. Though she never said it aloud, she felt it deeply in her heart.
Most of the children in this orphanage were abandoned, with no parents to speak of. The director had supported this entire household single-handedly, keeping them all fed on meager donations and odd-job income.
Although she often made the director angry, she knew better than anyone just how much the old man sacrificed for them.
However, even this hard-won, peaceful life was soon shattered.
One evening, just as Allie returned from outside carrying some wild vegetables, she saw seven or eight fierce-looking thugs gathered around the orphanage entrance.
Leading them was a bald, scarred thug wearing an open vest that revealed a gruesome scar across his chest. He was clearly bad news.
Standing at the doorway, he looked down at the frail director, his voice gruff and overbearing:
“Old man, our boss has taken a liking to this land. You have three days to pack up and leave. Otherwise—heh, don't blame us for getting rough.”
The director was a man in his late fifties, his hair already white, his posture stooped from years of hard labor.
He stood blocking the doorway. Though his voice was weak, it carried an unyielding stubbornness:
“This land was allocated to the orphanage by the Church of Light. We have the legal documents. You cannot throw us out...”
“Legal?”
The bald thug burst into laughter, and the thugs behind him joined in, their chuckles filled with malice and mockery.
“In this city, our boss is the law! Documents? That crap is too stiff to even wipe my ass with.”
He took a step forward, jabbing a thick finger into the director's chest.
“I'll say it one more time—get out in three days. Otherwise, some very bad things are going to happen to this shack and those little brats inside.”
The director was poked back a couple of steps, his face pale, but he still gritted his teeth and refused to yield.
Just then, a small, slender figure charged over like an angry young beast, throwing herself in front of the director.
“You bastards, get away from the director!”
Allie spread her arms, shielding the director, her eyes glaring fiercely at the group of thugs.
Her fists were clenched tight, her small body radiating an aura that completely defied her young age.
The thugs laughed at her display, but the bald leader didn't join in. He could tell from the look in this little girl's eyes that she was truly prepared to fight them to the death.
“Oh? This little girl has some fight in her.”
The bald thug grinned.
“Fine. Since you've got so much spine, we'll start with you. We'll show everyone else what happens when you cross us.”
He waved his hand, and the thugs behind him immediately closed in.
Allie gritted her teeth and fell into a combat stance.
She knew they outnumbered her, and she knew she would likely lose, but she had no choice. She refused to let these scoundrels hurt anyone in the orphanage.
However, just as the clash was about to begin—
“Stop right there.”
A childish voice rang out from the other end of the street.
Everyone froze, turning their heads in unison.
A lavishly decorated carriage was parked by the roadside with its door wide open. A finely dressed little boy, who looked no older than five or six, stood in front of the carriage door, staring over with his hands on his hips.
Standing behind him were several fully armed knights and a white-haired old butler.
That little boy was none other than a young Greg.
This was the scene of Allie's very first meeting with him.
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