"Urgh... blegh..."
Allen clutched the ship's rail, vomiting violently.
All around him were corpses, lying in pools of their own blood.
The vomiting wasn't because Allen was squeamish about the blood, it was because he got seasick.
It all started a few days into summer break. After returning to the orphanage, Allen quickly realized just how inconvenient life outside of Hogwarts really was. What bothered him most was his inability to buy more books to continue studying magic, he simply didn't have the money.
Compared to Hogwarts' sprawling library, the few secondhand books he'd managed to scrounge up were like drops in the ocean. Not nearly enough.
There's an old saying: "Read ten thousand books, and travel ten thousand miles."
Since he couldn't afford to buy more books, Allen set his sights on travel instead. As for money? That was a separate issue, after all, there was such a thing as "budget travel," wasn't there?
Of course, Allen's version of budget travel was… unorthodox.
He never planned to pay for the trip in the first place.
Snakes have their holes, rats have their runs. Since Allen couldn't afford a legitimate trip abroad, he chose a different route, illegal immigration.
Naturally, this kind of risky business wasn't something he'd drag a girl into. So, ignoring Annie's protests, Allen left her behind at the orphanage with a promise: he'd take her on a proper trip next year.
(Another major expense incoming, he thought.)
Now, sneaking into another country usually costs even more than legal means. But Allen wasn't planning to pay a cent. After altering his appearance using Transfiguration magic he'd learned through the exchange program, he specifically sought out a shady group that looked like human traffickers.
Apparently, his appearance fooled them, he looked like nothing more than an eleven-year-old street urchin in tattered clothes but with a pretty face. After a winding journey through back alleys, the group provided Allen with food and a place to stay.
Allen had told them he was an abused orphan looking to work and escape his situation.
Of course, working was never part of the plan, not for Allen, and certainly not for them.
This was an international trafficking ring. They smuggled children from remote European countries, moved them between borders, and eventually sold them, classified by "grade", to perverted clients with twisted desires.
And Allen being a boy? That didn't help. Boys sold just as well, and the demand was only growing.
Originally, the group hadn't planned to pick up kids from the UK, England was just a transit stop. But Allen had thrown himself right into their laps.
So, after two days in that "not bad" little room, Allen was tricked onto a boat with the excuse of "working as a deckhand in training", a lie so flimsy it didn't even try to sound convincing.
The ship itself was docked at a remote, secluded harbor. It was old, but sturdy, and that mattered. No matter how vile the crew, the sea was unforgiving. In a storm, even the most brutal thugs needed their ship to survive.
Since Allen and the others were considered "valuable merchandise," their conditions weren't as bad as the horror stories you hear about smuggling ships. Unlike the airtight compartments on those hellish vessels used by professional smugglers, where people relieved themselves and ate in the same space, often dying from disease or suffocation, this one was relatively humane.
They were fed, warm, and mostly left alone… aside from the daily threats and false promises of a "bright future" from the traffickers.
In fact, if not for the imprisonment and occasional intimidation, this might've been considered a pretty decent trip.
Unfortunately for the traffickers, their greed led them to ruin. Just when they were about to reach their destination, one of the men, driven by lust, set his sights on Allen.
That scrawny bastard was now very, very dead.
It's hard to survive a toothbrush through the heart.
Why didn't Allen use magic? First, he didn't want the scum to die too quickly. Second, magical deaths left traces, troublesome ones. Death by physical means was far easier to clean up. Wizards rarely paid attention to mundane human violence.
Allen had already considered all of this. The only change was that he struck a little earlier than planned. No big deal.
Rummaging through the corpse's clothes, he quickly found the key to his locked room. The creaking of the door as it opened didn't unnerve him, in fact, it felt like the start of some sacred ritual.
"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted."
Was this considered a sting operation? Allen chuckled to himself as he crept quietly down the corridor.
From the trafficker's body, Allen had also taken a small, sharp knife, standard gear for them. No guns, though.
Even if there were, Allen wouldn't use one. Guns weren't nearly as convenient as magic, even though he'd left his wand behind to avoid magical tracking.
The knife was too short and unwieldy, so his first priority was to find a proper weapon. Magic was still his last resort, he'd only use it in a life-or-death situation.
With Valor's help, he already knew the ship's layout. Most of the crew ignored the birds trailing the boat, birds that came for the heat and engine vibrations which attracted fish. Perfect cover.
Allen slipped into the kitchen with ease. Amid the stench of fish and rum, he found exactly what he needed: the largest fish-slicing knife available.
This wasn't some petty kitchen tool. It was a custom-made blade, over a foot and a half long, forged from leftover steel plates from a factory. Razor-sharp, strong enough to gut a shark, so a human? No problem.
Its blade was a dull black, the handle wrapped in sweat-absorbing burlap. In Allen's hands, it looked more like a greatsword.
"Very Garen-esque," Allen thought, testing its weight.
The two unlucky sentries on deck didn't even have time to raise the alarm before he took them down.
That's why the slaughter went on for a while before anyone noticed, until one guy, stepping out to take a leak, caught a strong whiff of blood.
He started shouting, waking the rest of the crew, and summoning his own death.
The others bolted toward the weapons room. The captain, fearing mutiny, had forbidden anyone but the sentries from carrying arms. When they encountered maritime patrols, the few leftover Soviet cannons on board were enough to stall until the rest could arm themselves.
Unfortunately for them, Allen wasn't planning to engage in a gunfight.
When it came to locked doors, a few metal wires jammed into the keyhole were more than enough.
The only real resistance came from the captain himself.
Still in his pajamas, he witnessed his crew getting massacred by a child. Instead of praying, he grabbed a pistol and fired.
Too bad for him, a shield flared up just as the shot rang out, blocking his last desperate hope.
An instant later, a raven swooped in and knocked the gun from his hands.
"P-please… don't…" he begged, falling to his knees.
But Allen didn't give enemies the luxury of a second sentence.
In the end, between the stench of blood and the constant swaying of the deck, Allen, still gripping his bloodied blade, couldn't help but vomit again.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
P.S. "Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.", From Assassin's Creed
While others blindly chase truth and reality, remember: Nothing is true (all things are information and data).
While others are bound by laws and morality, remember: Everything is permitted (all things are sanctioned by the universe).
If human traffickers face no death penalty under the law, then Allen will become the executioner.
The phrase "Read ten thousand books, and travel ten thousand miles" means the balance between knowledge gained through study and wisdom gained through experience.
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