The place was dark, lit only by torches scattered around, casting flickering light across the area.
Buildings and houses were made of dark black bricks. The structures were few and far between.
Between them ran a wide street, crowded with cages and men whose faces were scarred, or others covering their faces with tattered brown cloaks.
A mixture of smells filled the air—spices spread over tables, mingled with the scent of blood, fear, and sweat from the cages.
Whispers and screams echoed through the street.
An elderly, unnervingly thin man falls, crying out for help: "Help me, please!"
But no one pays attention. Perhaps they ignore him… or perhaps they're used to it.
Near this street, inside one of the finest houses in the area, a group of girls of different appearances stood before a fat man seated in a large chair, flanked by two women with full figures.
The man held the women by their waists, smiling as he stared at the girls.
The girls trembled. A brown-haired girl with green eyes began crying. A dark-skinned girl with black hair and brown eyes tried to smile nervously but couldn't. Yet…
Among all the girls was a red-haired girl, staring at the fat man with steady eyes and furrowed brows.
The man caught her gaze, narrowing his eyes: "Oh my, do you see how this girl stares at me? I'm so scared." Then he bursts out laughing loudly, and the men beside him laughed as well.
The men wore practical clothing and carried weapons.
One dark-brown-haired man whispered to his companion: "What a fool. If I were her, I'd pretend to be sick or afraid instead of doing this."
His friend replied: "Shut up, idiot. Luckily, she's doing this. Leader Kyros will leave her for us to discipline. Ha ha ha."
The dark-brown-haired man lowers his head, muttering to himself: "Isn't what we're doing wrong?" (He presses his hand over his heart.) "It feels like we're just trash."
No one notices him.
Kyros stops laughing when the red-haired girl speaks, her eyes burning with defiance, her confident voice trembling with suppressed rage: "You killed my father, killed my entire family just to get slaves and playthings."
She grips her handcuffs tightly, scratches forming on her skin, blood beginning to flow. Her face is twisted with anger and hatred. Everyone stops laughing, hands moving to their weapons as she continues: "I'll crush you! I'll kill you in the most gruesome ways! I hate you! I hate you to the core!" She pants heavily.
Kyros trembles for a moment; fear flashes briefly in his eyes, then disappears as he looks at her with an evaluative gaze.
He raises his hand to get his men's attention and give orders, but suddenly…
The door bursts open. Everyone turns as a well-dressed man rushes in, panting, speaking in broken breaths: "Sir… Sir Kyros!" (He straightens up.) "The owl has spotted one of the men missing!"
Everyone's eyes widen.
The dark-brown-haired man seizes the tension to slip away, freeing the girls from their handcuffs.
When he reaches the red-haired girl, he sees her injured hands, once delicate. He quickly releases her and pushes her forward, giving her a look that says: Run.
Then he returns to his place as if nothing happened, trying hard to suppress his own ragged breathing.
Kyros pushes the two women he was holding, stands abruptly, waving his hands: "What?! Have the beasts entered here?! I'm sure beasts aren't smart enough to find the black market, unknown even to nobles!"
The well-dressed man continues: "No, sir, not beasts. The signal disappeared in the blink of an eye. I bet they're humans."
Kyros freezes for a moment, then snaps: "Humans? Are you joking? Quick, bring them! If they resist, just kill them."
The men sprint out of the room.
Kyros throws himself into his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
When he finally opens his eyes, the red-haired girl is gone. He opens his mouth to call his men, but his scream is cut short.
The red-haired girl emerges from behind his chair, stabbing him in the throat with a shard of glass. She pulls it out and stabs randomly everywhere—heart, lungs, eyes, face.
The two women flee in terror.
They leave the girl alone with Kyros in the room.
She continues striking wherever she can.
The heart, the lungs, the eyes, the face…
She directs every blow she can.
Kyros gasps, eyes going lifeless, but she does not stop. Sweat drips down her face, but she does not relent.
Blood covers her so much that her face becomes almost unrecognizable.
Her vision blurs; her hand bleeds heavily from gripping the glass.
She feels pain, staggers, tries to steady herself but cannot, falling to the ground as consciousness begins to fade. Yet she smiles faintly, murmuring softly: "I've avenged you… I did it."
Before losing consciousness, she sees people resembling her smiling at her—it's her family.
She reaches toward them but blacks out mid-motion.
Elsewhere in the black market, in the filthy sewers, walls streaked with old blood, the smell is a mix of rusted metal and decay.
The stench hits Anas' nose as he walks over the dull gray tiles with soft footsteps.
Edward walks beside him, with Leona and Naivy following behind.
Suddenly, Anas stops, and everyone halts.
He turns, staring into the empty space behind them, placing a hand over his face as he sighs: "Damn. I completely forgot."
Leona tilts her head slightly, golden hair moving with the motion: "Forgot what? If you mean food…" (She gestures to her pockets with a wide grin.) "I already got it. Aren't I our savior? Hahaha."
Leona's laughter fills the space.
Edward looks at his sister with newfound admiration: "You're the best sister in the world."
Naivy smiles: "Finally, you did something useful, my beautiful sister."
Leona frowns slightly, looking away.
Hmph!
"You're always useful, Anas," Leona says, staring at him, thinking: Come on, praise me. I saved you—praise me.
Anas finally removes his hand from his face, staring into the empty space, speaking aloud to himself: "I forgot to take something from that monster. This isn't fair. I killed him with difficulty and take nothing to make a weapon. It's extremely annoying."
Everyone looks at Anas with varying astonishment, though less now as they've grown accustomed to his personality.
Anas begins walking back, but Leona grabs his wrist, making him turn toward her. She meets his gaze seriously: "Listen, haven't you been the realist all this time? Why do you want—or need—to act personally now? Didn't you consider the possibility that we could be attacked again by people like the one you just killed?"
"What do you mean by that?" Anas asks.
Leona studies his face with her blue eyes, drawing a deep inhale, then slowly exhales: "I'll be direct. That monster is nothing now. Perhaps someone else already took everything. So you have to choose: either we trust and rely on you—or a corpse that may no longer have what you wanted. What do you choose?"