A sudden clang rang out from behind the wall, followed by a muffled scream.
Charles' grip tightened on his sword.
"Guess someone didn't bother waiting for us to knock."
Freya's reply was quiet, clipped, and sharp.
"That's no alarm. Likely some poor fool tried to run… or picked a fight with a client. Either way, it works for us. Fewer eyes to notice we're here."
Charles gave a dry half-smile. Better than stumbling into half-drunk guards, I suppose. Real nice. His gaze swept the looming wall.
"Alright. Where to?"
Freya pointed toward the barrier of stone.
"We can't touch the main gates—or the side ones. That's suicide."
Gerart scowled, studying the smooth rise.
"That wall's ten meters at least. Slick as glass. You expect us to scale that?"
Freya's mouth curved into a grin. She gestured toward a stack of water barrels huddled at the base.
"There's a drainage hole behind them. Small, but if you're not too fat, you'll squeeze through. Shouldn't be guarded."
Charles arched a brow. Because people always leave open holes in their walls. Sure.
"And if it is?"
The grin didn't falter.
"Then you and that sword earn their keep."
Reassuring as ever.
Her tone hardened. No room for debate.
"We go straight for the ledger. No noise. No unnecessary killing. Clear?"
---
The drainage hole was unguarded.
Relief flickered through the group, only to be drowned by the sight waiting inside. It was like stepping through a veil into another world. The filth and rot of the slums fell away behind them. Ahead stretched a manicured paradise: a gleaming white mansion rising like a jewel, gardens spilling color in neat rows, hedges trimmed into perfect shapes, trees whispering in the night wind. Lanterns lit a pond that shimmered like glass, a carved stream feeding it in careful trickles.
Charles narrowed his eyes. A little heaven, built on hell.
But Freya didn't lead them toward the shining mansion. She kept low, guiding them along the garden's edge until a second structure came into view—a squat block of grey stone, brutal and plain. No windows. No carvings. Just bare walls that seemed to swallow the light.
In front of its heavy door, two guards slouched at a table, cards spread between them. A bottle leaned half-empty at their side, words slurring as they laughed.
"One of the little bitches almost bit his cock clean off," one wheezed.
His partner snorted. "That bastard won't be back soon."
"Oh, he will. Wants to punish her himself."
"Rich pervert," the other muttered, tossing coins onto the pile. "Still, not our—"
The words died in his throat.
An arrow hissed out of the dark, splitting his chest. His partner barely twitched before a blade carved his throat, blood bubbling out in silence.
Their game ended with no applause.
Charles straightened, knife slick in his hand. Syrien lowered his bow beside him. Both corpses slumped quietly into the dirt.
"Perfect combination," Charles murmured.
Freya gave a curt nod. "Good. Inside."
---
The building stank of damp and stone. Torches spat weak light along the corridor, shadows stretching into narrow corners. Doors lined both walls—iron hinges, iron locks.
Freya's whisper cut through the gloom.
"Right side—guard quarters. About ten, likely asleep. Left side—cages. At the end, the manager's office."
Charles tightened his grip on the knife.
"First, the guards. Quiet. Then the office. We get the ledger… and burn this pit to ash."
Behind them, Lira's voice trembled.
"And… the captives?"
Freya didn't hesitate.
"Most would rather die than keep breathing in here. But if you want to set them free, do it. Just don't raise the alarm before the job's done."
No one spoke after that.
The guardroom door creaked open, exhaling sour ale and sweat. Six men lay scattered on the straw, boots and weapons kicked aside, snoring in jagged rhythm.
One by one, blades whispered across throats. None woke. By the time Charles straightened, only blood dripped into silence.
"Six," he muttered. "Not ten. Lucky… or unlucky."
Freya jerked her chin toward the far door.
"Doesn't matter. The office. Move."
---
From behind the office door came the faint sound of weeping.
They slipped inside without a word.
The stink of blood hit first. A woman lay crumpled on the floor, her skin a map of bruises and burns. Over her loomed a beastkin—pig-faced, belly wobbling with each step. A knife gleamed red in his hand, its edge dragging lazily across the woman's arm as he savored her whimpers.
"You should've listened," he drawled, fat lips wet with amusement. "This is only the beginning. Wait until he gives you your real punishment."
He heard them enter, but didn't bother turning—too drunk on cruelty.
"Did I not say I was not to be disturbed?"
No one answered.
Charles moved. The hilt of his sword cracked against the side of the beastkin's skull with a brutal crunch. The man's eyes rolled back, his voice choking off as he collapsed into the dirt, knife clattering free.
The woman whimpered, half-conscious.
Lira dropped to her side, hands trembling as she tried to stop the bleeding. "You're safe now," she whispered, though her own voice wavered.
Freya didn't spare a glance. She tore through shelves and drawers, rifling without pause. Charles and Syrien stood at the door, blades ready, ears tuned to the dark corridor beyond.
Moments later, Freya pulled a thick leather-bound book free, its pages yellowed with use. Her eyes glinted.
"Ledger. Got it."
Charles' answer was flat.
"Good. Now we free the slaves… and burn it all."
---
The cages were worse than any nightmare.
Bodies huddled in filth—women with hollow eyes, men stripped of strength, children curled into silence. Some begged in whispers, others only stared blankly at nothing. The air reeked of piss, blood, despair.
And memory struck. His mother's voice, choked by chains. Her body broken beneath lashes. The boy he had been, too small to fight back, learning what despair tasted like.
Charles' knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword. His rage rose fast, hot, and blinding.
His voice came low, forced through clenched teeth.
"See who can be saved. Give the rest a quick end. I'll deal with the mansion—reduce it to ash. Do the same here. Any who wish to follow, take them. The farms will welcome them."
He didn't wait to see if the others obeyed.
Snatching a torch from the wall, flame hissing as it flared, Charles stormed into the night. Firelight danced in his eyes as his jaw tightened.
"They'll burn screaming."