I charged forward without thinking, not hiding my intent for even a moment. The cursed merchant's face was a clear target in my mind, and all I cared about was the moment my fist smashed into his nose.
But Raven, unfortunately, was faster. He raised his arm in front of me, his body blocking my path with unshakable steadiness, not even turning his head to look at me. His eyes stayed fixed on the merchant, his voice calm yet sharp as the edge of a blade:
"What exactly do you think you're doing?"
I growled from behind him.
"Freeing the children, what do you think?"
His reply was dry.
"Are you an idiot?"
I could feel my blood boiling, but I bit my tongue and muttered reluctantly:
"Fine, you're right. We'll hold back, wait for the right time, tell the others, and come back to free them."
His jaw shifted slightly.
"Free them? Who said that's part of the plan?"
I froze for a moment, frowning.
"Didn't you say we were here to gather information?"
He shook his head slightly.
"Yes. Just information. That's all we were told to get."
I waved my hand in the air.
"We gather it, then come back with the men, surround the place, save the kids."
He cut me off.
"No. We won't come back. We're not saving anyone. We're not heroes from some fantasy novel, and we're not a rescue squad. We're a gang. Remember that well."
My throat went dry.
"So… we're not going to help them?"
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Finally, you're starting to understand."
I glanced toward the cages. Behind the bars, children lay still some barely lifting their heads, others clinging to the fence with thin, frail fingers. I exhaled sharply.
"So what do we do now?"
He paused before answering. Without turning, his voice came out calm and cold, like a winter breeze:
"We leave."
Then he turned and walked away. I stood there, my feet heavy, as though each cage behind me was pulling me backward. Eventually, I followed, the sounds of chains and muffled cries trailing after me.
...
We reached the old tavern. Only a wooden door separated us from it, with a weathered sign above, tilted to one side, reading: The Broken Goblet.
The moment we stepped inside, there was Garod behind the bar as if he hadn't moved from that spot in fifty years. Nobody here called him "bartender" because everyone knew the truth: this man wasn't just serving drinks. This was Iron Garod, founder of the Bloody Fang gang, a name whispered in alleyways but never spoken aloud.
He was wiping a glass in that slow, repetitive motion that seemed less about cleaning and more about keeping his hands busy. He looked up slightly as we entered, saying nothing. Raven sat first, no hesitation, like he was back home. I followed, trying to look at ease.
Raven spoke without blinking:
"The merchant we were watching keeps children locked in a back warehouse. Eight iron cages, at least."
Garod didn't react. He simply asked:
"Did you document everything?"
Raven pulled a folded paper from his pocket and placed it on the table.
"Full conversation, deal details, buyer's description, and delivery time."
I stared at the paper in disbelief. How? When did he write this? I'd been next to him the whole mission.
Trying to spark some sympathy, I said:
"They were kids some barely seven years old. One of them cried, calling for his mother. The merchant said she sold him."
I didn't expect him to break down in tears, but some foolish part of me clung to a small hope. Maybe this would move him to act?
He opened a drawer behind him and pulled out two small leather pouches, tossing them in front of us casually.
"Well done."
As if we'd just delivered a package, nothing more.
"That's it? They're children."
He lifted his head toward me.
"And since when do gangs raise children?"
The answer wasn't surprising, but it still stung.
Raven calmly picked up his pouch, stood, and walked past me. As he passed, he said with a mocking tone:
"I told you from the start don't get your hopes up. We're a gang."
I stood there for a moment before slowly turning toward the exit. Just as I was about to step out, Garod's voice came from behind:
"If you want to live longer, don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."
I froze for a second, a cold prickling at the back of my neck. Swallowing slowly, I left without looking back.
...
Outside, walking alongside Raven, I asked:
"Didn't someone abolish slavery in this damned country?"
Raven lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke before answering:
"Abolished up top, yes. On paper in the middle. But here? Down below?"
Then he added, quiet but steady:
"Those kids you saw will be sent to forced labor in factories, or sold to farms in the countryside. Whoever pays more gets more."
With that, he walked off without looking back. I stood still for a moment, watching his back grow smaller in the distance.
Around midnight, I rose from bed without hurry. I had a clear plan for the first time since I woke up in this body, my head wasn't swimming in fog. For the past week, my mind had been like a mountain road shrouded in mist. Now, finally, I could see the way forward.
I'd spent hours observing the warehouse from a safe distance before returning to my apartment to finalize the plan. Three guards, huge men with faces that said I haven't slept well in a year, their movements slow and bored. They looked utterly uninterested, but still never underestimate someone with a weapon who's willing to use it.
Physically, I'm not just an average man. I could take them down. Not easily, of course I might crawl away half dead but theoretically? I could.
Even so, I shook my head. No risks. Not now. Any direct fight meant noise, so I decided on the less flashy route: stealth.
I glanced around the apartment. Raven wasn't there as usual. The man had a supernatural talent for vanishing at night. Where did he go? I didn't know, and I didn't want to know. As long as he didn't come back with a corpse, I was fine.
I left the building, repeating the plan in my head: sneak in, free the kids from the cages, escape. Simple enough.
But as I approached the place, my heart stopped for a beat. The three guards were on the ground cut to pieces. Worse, the warehouse's heavy metal door was smashed apart. I stood frozen, staring like an idiot.
"Well… this isn't part of the plan."
I hesitated at the doorway, my eyes flicking over the guards' bodies. The blood was still warm, crawling in slow rivulets along the pavement.
My mind screamed at me: Retreat. Leave. You can still make it out alive. I actually turned and ran. I wanted to save the kids, yes, but who said I had to die with them?
It was logical. A smart decision. Any sane person would have done the same turn back and forget. But I couldn't. My feet froze without warning. Then I turned toward the shattered metal door. Something was pushing me to go inside.
Conscience? Maybe. Or maybe it was that look in the children's eyes earlier the kind you can't forget. Or maybe it was the will of this body. Can't you die in peace, original Jivan? I sighed in frustration and stepped inside.
...
I moved slowly through the corridor, my back against the wall. Then I saw them the children in their cages. Some lay silently, others stared into nothingness.
They were there in body only. I reached for one of the locks instinctively.
Then, without warning, came a muffled sound followed by a violent tremor through the floor like something massive had slammed into it.
In the blink of an eye, Raven flew past me like a doll thrown by sheer force. His body crashed into one of the empty iron cages, shattering it completely. The impact rang through the warehouse.
I took a step back, my mind struggling to grasp what was happening.
Suddenly, the merchant lunged at Raven yes, the same man we'd spent two days watching as he sold junk and pretended to be harmless. But now, he was nothing like that quiet, pitiful man.
He charged like a beast freed from its cage, his body larger than it had seemed earlier, muscles taut, eyes stripped of all humanity.
His steps were heavy but terrifyingly fast. Raven, despite the crash, sprang to his feet. He rolled away just as the merchant's fist came down, missing his face by mere centimeters and slamming into the wall, leaving a deep crack.
With a strong kick, Raven shoved the merchant back, sending him slamming against the wall.
And then, shockingly, the merchant's body ignited literally ignited. Dark red flames erupted from his skin. His face twisted with rage, and he lunged again at Raven, now a human fireball.
Before he could reach him, Raven vanished not a step back, just gone. Then he appeared behind the merchant, as if out of thin air.
His hand pulled something from his coat pocket a sword hilt, but unlike any weapon I'd ever seen. Strange engravings covered it, like forgotten languages or symbols from a book sealed for centuries.
With a small motion, a blade surged out of the hilt. It wasn't quite transparent, more fluid like a sword made of pure, clear water, glowing faintly in the dark.
He moved with breathtaking speed, the watery blade slicing through the air. The merchant fought back, but his attacks were wild and brutal, lacking precision.
I stood rooted to the spot, barely believing what I was seeing. The whole scene felt like it had stepped out of an ancient legend, yet it was real real enough that I could feel the heat from the merchant even where I stood.
But I didn't have time to marvel. Not now. I ran to the cages, breaking them open. The rusty iron crumbled under my blows like paper. One by one, the cages fell.
The children inside barely moved thin, pale, their bodies curled in on themselves as if they hadn't eaten in days, maybe months.
Some stayed frozen in place even after the doors opened. One tried to stand but collapsed again, as if his legs had forgotten how to walk.
I knelt before one of them, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. My voice was low, almost a whisper:
"It's over. You're safe now."
But deep inside, I knew it was a lie. Nothing was over yet.