Back in the auction hall
Dust had finally settled.
There were bodies littered across the floor. There was blood pooling around chairs and shattered tiles. The crowd had run in every direction and, yet, none moved towards the boy, standing proudly in the ruined auction hall.
Nothing could conceal the cracks on Luenor's mask; nothing could hide the light of his eyes, even from underneath the dust. His cloak was tattered and his armor mired in blood. But he was alive. Breathing even.
He stepped over bodies, over the auctioneer cowering behind the podium and began to move towards the exit where Thalanar was limping.
Thalanar coughed blood and almost smiled as he saw Luenor step towards him.
"You are late," Luenor said with a small smirk.
"You look like hell," Thalanar said weakly.
____
A loud boom broke the rune-protected wooden door of the storeroom, scattering burning chunks of it down the narrow hall. Arwin pivoted on his heel with sword drawn, staring at a man dressed all in black attire with his cloak lined in faintly glowing etchings. He wore a smug expression, with narrow, seizing eyes filled with confidence.
"Are you actually capable of fighting me in your state?" the man enquired with contemptuous intonation. His voice was smooth, flowing, like venom.
Before Arwin could speak, a soft, yet firm voice replied from behind him.
"He won't have to."
From within the depths beyond the opened slave exit, Nalia stepped forward, with the red and silver lacing of her robe glinting softly in the dim light. Faren strode alongside of her, drawing back his bow, an arrow glowing with mana aimed directly for the intruder's throat. The man's smugness faltered, and his head tilted slightly with recognition.
"An elf," he said almost in a whisper. "Not just any elf, a high-elf judging from the mana radiance…"
A silence fell over the liberated slaves—human and elf alike—as they looked to Arwin. An elf, confident like Faren who was poised to strike, was leading them, and it was like they were receiving hope for the first time in too long. An elf girl with clothes that could not hide the memory of shackles, tentatively reached for a rusted sword sitting on the ground. They began to move as a people encouraged by those ready to fight for them.
The man in black took a cautionary step back. "You don't know what you're doing. That girl I came with--she's a knight of Duke Siegfreed. You have just declared war on a monster."
"You want to talk monsters?" a voice rumbled from behind him.
He stiffened when Hunter pulled himself from the rubble, his cloak torn, butcher knife slick with blood, and an unconscious female knight slung over his shoulder. He heaved the knight to the ground with a grunt.
The man's bravado waned as he looked down at his battered comrade on the ground.
"Still want to mention the Duke's name?" Hunter growled. "Because it makes me mad."
Before the man could respond, someone came up behind them and footsteps rang out. Everyone turned.
A bloodied Luenor came into sight, his arm draped over the shoulder of the unconscious Thalanar. Thalanar was pale, barely able to stand, his side soaked red with blood from his stab wound. However, he nodded at Nalia and Faren and then leveled his glassy eyes at the black-clad intruder.
Luenor spoke with a rasping voice but confidence.
"Hunter, you will stand down. Let them leave."
The man looked back and forth between them, confused, then relieved. He stumbled over to where his comrade had fallen and picked her up. "You haven't heard the last of this—"
Luenor limped closer and pointed his blood-slick blade. "You tell the Duke... Luenor Sureva sends his regards."
As the man turned to leave, Faren calmly pulled back his arrow. The arrow flew straight, puncturing the man right in the rear. He yelped and sped up, dragging his unconscious friend behind him.
The crowd of slaves was silent for a moment, then burst into soft laughter.
"Nalia," Luenor gasped, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead, "get inside. See if the wind mage, and whoever that knight Thalanar fought is still alive. We might need some information."
Nalia nodded, and raced toward the disintegrating auction hall.
"Faren," Luenor went on, "start loading those crates on the carriages. All of them. Get those two workers to help you. Scare them if you have to."
Faren saluted, pivoted, then with precise motion began barking commands.
Luenor looked toward the broken slaves, many in chains, or clutching weapons with shaking hands. Humans, elves, young and old. Their faces showed assorted expressions of fear, confusion, and minimal hope. He raised his voice.
"Listen to me!" he called out, boom of his voice bouncing against the crumbling stone. "My name is Luenor Sureva. Some of you may have heard it today, in the lust of nobles and bottomless screams of foes. I am the heir of a ruined house, and today I take back a piece of what was taken from me."
He took a moment, eyes locking with a number of the slaves.
"No more chains. No more cages. From today, you are no one's property. You are free - and if you wish, you may follow me. To Echilon. To safety. To new beginning."
Murmurs went around the group. A few dropped their weapons. Others, like elf girl from earlier, clutched theirs tighter.
Arwin stepped forward, used his sleeve to wipe blood off his own face.
"You'll have food, shelter, and protection. You don't have to fight. But if you do... you'll fight for name that never bowed to kings or cowards."
Slowly, one by one, they began to move. Some followed Faren to the wagons, some helped Thalanar limp to safety, and others simply sat down, exhausted but no longer shackled.
A few minutes later, Nalia came back, her expression grim. "They're alive. Barely. I have restrained them. Should we bring them?"
Luenor nodded. "Load them in separate carriage. We will decide their fate Echilon."
He turned back to the cracked sign. Above the auction house, the symbol of Duskwatch's black market, once a crown with flames around it, now dangled from only one hook.
Luenor raised his sword in the air.
"This market belongs to us now."
With a single swing he sliced the emblem in half.