The guard roughly ran his baton against the iron bars, before tapping the door aggressively.
"Number fifteen. New roommate. He's joining your cell. Cursed person for a cursed cell. He laughed.
"Seems like you two are perfect for each other." He sneered.
The slaver shoved a figure into the cage.
Clank.
He was wearing full plate armor.
Closed helm.
No slave collar.
The girl curled in the corner blinked once.
(Why armor…?)
The slaver's eyes were glassy, unfocused.
He left without another word.
The armored man looked around, sighed like he'd checked into a bad inn.
"No blanket? Floor's filthy.
…Whatever. I can sleep anywhere."
He lay down on bare stone.
Ten seconds later: gentle snoring.
The girl stared.
(What is this person?) She thought.
Hours later he woke, stretched, metal creaking.
"Morning. Still no futon.
You bored yet?"
Silence.
He kept talking anyway.
"I'm not staying long.
Once I'm out, I'm buying every magic tool in the capital and sleeping for a month.
Hey, what's the food like? If it's decent, I might consider permanent residency.
Unlimited naps, zero effort… tempting."
The girl finally spoke, voice raspy from disuse.
"…Don't talk to me."
He paused.
"Okay. One question, then I shut up."
He crouched so the helmet visor was level with her eyes.
"What do you want to do?
Dream. Hobby. Anything."
She hugged her knees tighter.
"…Nothing.
There's no way."
He was quiet a long time.
Then stood.
"Got it."
Metal clanked.
"I really hate slavery."
He reached into empty air.
A massive black greatsword materialized in his gauntlet.
The girl's eyes widened.
He walked to the iron bars.
One casual swing.
CLANG.
The bars fell in perfect halves.
He glanced back.
"Let's go."
"…Go where?"
"I'm destroying this arena.
You coming?"
She stared at the open doorway.
Then at the armored man already walking away.
Something cracked inside her chest.
She followed.
What came next was less a jailbreak and more an apocalypse.
One swing: two guards became red mist.
One swing: an iron gate became confetti.
One swing: a noble's head rolled across marble like a dropped melon.
The armored man never hurried.
Never shouted.
Just walked forward, blade singing a quiet, terrible song.
Nobles screamed, fled, begged.
He cut them down anyway.
Blood painted his silver armor crimson.
The girl trailed behind, barefoot on cooling corpses, watching nobles who once laughed from golden seats die with the same expressions as the slaves they'd fed to beasts.
Finally only one remained.
The arena manager: fat, sweating, rings flashing on every finger.
"H-how dare you! My father is the prime minister!"
The black sword rested on the man's shoulder.
"So?"
"I'll give you anything! Gold! Women! Titles!"
"Tempting.
But I didn't come for rewards."
"Then why?!"
The armored man thought about it.
"…I just don't like slavery."
The manager sneered through terror.
"Killing me won't end it! There are hundreds of arenas. How about this, join me and we'll end slave trading together—"
The sword rose.
"I'll crush them all myself."
Whoosh.
The head flew.
It landed with a wet thud at the girl's feet.
She looked up.
The armored man was already walking toward the exit, leaving a trail of bodies and silence.
She ran after him.
Outside, dawn was breaking.
He stopped at the gates, turned.
"You're free.
Go wherever."
The girl opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Voice small, cracked, but steady.
"…Take me with you."
He tilted his helmet.
"Got a dream yet?"
She shook her head.
He shrugged.
"Fine.
We'll find you one on the way."
He started walking.
She followed.
Behind them, the arena burned.
And somewhere in the smoke, a girl who had forgotten how to hope took her first free step.
The armored man never asked her name.
She never asked his.
Didn't matter.
They were free now.