The firelight at the end of the corridor was steady—and cold.
The unit in standardized armor stood in stark contrast to the panicked traffickers and guards around them. They wore iron-gray light armor, a simple shield-shaped insignia etched into their breastplates. The tips of their halberds glimmered faintly with enchantment.
Regular military—or a high-grade private force.
The man at the front looked to be in his early thirties. He wore no helmet. His neatly kept blond hair caught the firelight, impossible to miss. He didn't give the order to attack. Instead, one hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword as he studied Rosa with the gaze one might reserve for a precision instrument.
"To disable an entire market's enslavement system within ten seconds,"
his voice rang clearly through the narrow alley,
"and execute precise, silent takedowns in total darkness—this is not something feral beastkin can accomplish."
Rosa shifted half a step, placing herself squarely in front of Bella and Jessie. Her muscles were relaxed, but the pressure in her toes told the truth—she could explode into motion at any moment.
"Who are you?" Rosa asked. Her voice was hoarse, yet carried unmistakable weight.
"Atos," the man replied, giving a flawless knight's bow—absurdly ironic when directed at beastkin. "Sheriff of the Blackstone Territory."
Then his eyes sharpened.
"But what truly interests me is this—what organization cultivated you as 'seeds'?"
"We're just people who want to leave," Jessie spoke up from slightly behind Rosa, her expression once again soft and guarded. Yet deep in her eyes, the cold remained.
"Leave?" Atos chuckled briefly, then the smile vanished, replaced by professional detachment.
"After crippling sixteen guards and destroying an enslavement core worth three thousand gold?"
He raised a hand. Behind him, the halberd unit stepped forward in perfect unison.
"This town is sealed. You have two options."
"One—be classified as rebellious assets and disposed of on the spot."
"Two—come with me, and meet a patron who has a strong interest in your… techniques."
Rosa felt a light tug on the edge of her clothing.
Bella's signal.
Do not engage head-on.
Their gear was enchanted. The numerical disadvantage was overwhelming. And their bodies were already entering cooldown after the recent burst.
"Who is this patron?" Rosa asked.
"Someone who can decide whether you die on an operating table," Atos said calmly, stepping aside to open a path,
"or walk out of this town alive."
He gestured lightly.
"After you—off-spec merchandise."
[Blackstone Territory · Governor's Manor Basement]
One hour later
They were not returned to cages.
Instead, they were confined in a spacious, clean stone chamber—almost comfortable. The reinforced steel door was thick, and their restraints were still fitted with suppression fields, but compared to the market, this place felt like paradise.
Bella immediately began scanning the room.
"No surveillance arrays," she murmured to Rosa. "But there are sensor layers inside the walls. The guards outside have perfectly synchronized breathing—career soldiers."
"That man earlier was probing us," Rosa said, sitting on the stone bed and studying her hands.
The residual heat of combat still lingered in her blood. It made one thing clear—this body's potential far exceeded her expectations.
"Leader, look at this." Jessie moved to a table in the corner. Several documents lay there, unmistakably placed on purpose.
At the top of the papers was a rough sketch.
Three female beastkin silhouettes.
Next to them were symbols they didn't recognize—but at the bottom, written in a different color, was a single number:
0
"Designation zero?" Bella leaned in. "What does that mean?"
"It means that in their records," Jessie said quietly,
"we were never supposed to exist."
"Or," she added after a beat,
"we're a variable they anticipated."
At that moment, the heavy stone door ground open.
The man who entered was not Atos.
He was thin, draped in a loose silk robe. A monocle sat over one eye, and a quill danced excitedly in his hand. His gaze moved back and forth between the three of them—before stopping on Rosa.
"Extraordinary compatibility," he muttered, scribbling furiously.
"Near-zero rejection between soul and flesh…"
Then he looked up sharply.
"You came through the Rift, didn't you?"
Rosa's pupils contracted instantly.
He knew about the Rift.
"Do you want to go back?" The man's eyes gleamed with unhealthy excitement behind the lens.
"If you cooperate with my experiments, I might be able to help you… repair that door."
"Go back?"
Jessie's icy expression melted in an instant.
She let longing and uncertainty flood her face. Her fingers trembled as they clutched at her collar, transforming herself into a powerful yet deeply frightened drifter from another world.
"You… you can really send us back?" Her voice shook just enough. She stepped forward, fox ears drooping slightly—harmless, desperate.
"Oh, of course! Of course!" The man adjusted his monocle eagerly, clearly delighted by her reaction.
"I am the chief magitech engineer here. You may call me Oren."
"The people of this world will only ever see you as beasts," he continued fervently.
"But I—I see a miracle of science!"
Rosa remained at the rear, arms folded across her chest.
She said nothing.
This silent-bodyguard posture relaxed Oren even further. In his mind, the only one worth speaking to was the emotional foxkin girl.
"Then the experiments…" Jessie blinked her mismatched eyes, voice timid.
"Will they… hurt?"
"Only a little," Oren replied eagerly.
"We'll simply record the magical fluctuations when you activate your abilities—"
He launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his theories.
Jessie listened intently, nodding at intervals, asking questions that sounded naïve—yet were perfectly aimed.
Each one coaxed more information from Oren about the Rift's locations, its energy behavior, and how it could be stabilized.
The trap had already been set.
And he was walking straight into it.