Even with doubt and disbelief swirling in his mind, Orum felt certain that the girl in the cage before him was Anna, the cleric of the Shield of the Mountains.
And yet the whole thing was deeply unsettling.
According to the intelligence provided by the villagers of Kadia, the Shield of the Mountains party had entered a dungeon that had become a goblin nest and was never heard from again.
By any reasonable logic, they should have been devoured by the monsters long ago.
So how had they ended up in a black market, reduced to livestock for sale?
Had that minor dungeon held another exit, leading the Shield of the Mountains into some other disaster? Or had the villagers been lying all along, and the party had never set foot in the dungeon at all?
Whichever the case, what Orum needed to do right now was perfectly clear: take control of the vendor and the caged slave girl, then find evidence to confirm her identity.
Roughly ten hours later.
In the finest inn in Port Zobek, the Golden Vessel, inside the top-floor luxury suite.
The room was furnished with extravagant opulence and carried the exotic flair of ocean voyages. On one wall hung a priceless enchanted oil painting depicting a warship cutting through mountainous waves, pressing boldly through a raging storm. Standing before that lifelike painting, one could almost hear the sea roaring.
Across from the painting sat a wide velvet sofa, spacious enough to seat a dozen people at once.
The members of Ice Hawks Company had bathed and changed, and were now resting there, unwinding from the day's events.
Team captain Felix sat at a solid wood writing desk, composing his mission report with focused precision.
Vice-captain Raygore sprawled across the sofa without a care in the world, lazily chomping through the red apples on the plate beside him, every crunch loud and thoroughly satisfied.
Merina had curled herself into a fluffy ball in the corner of the sofa, a soft purr rising from her throat as she drifted into sleep. Orum held a newspaper in his hands and was reading the serialized adventure story printed inside with quiet interest.
With a creak, the side door swung open. Priest Ronald stepped out, his expression grave. He reported to his teammates in a heavy voice: "Anna's condition is very bad. Her mind has completely broken down.
She shows no response to anything around her, as if she were an empty shell walking through the world. Bringing her back to normal will take a very long time, and there's no guarantee she can be fully healed."
Ronald had never expected to make progress through conversation or coaxing, because when Orum brought Anna out of the black market, the entire Ice Hawks team had already discovered that the front half of her tongue had been cut away by brutal means.
It was a method commonly used by slave traders: a sharp blade to remove the tongue, followed immediately by a red-hot iron or boiling oil pressed to the wound to seal it, preventing their human cattle from bleeding out and dying.
This torture inflicted not only unimaginable physical suffering on its victims, but also caused severe and lasting psychological damage.
Even as an experienced healer, Ronald could not determine whether Anna had already suffered a mental collapse before the mutilation, or whether the agony of losing her tongue had driven her into this state.
After Orum reunited with his teammates and explained the situation, Felix immediately recognized how strange and serious things had become. He filed an official report to the Port Zobek constabulary without delay.
For cases involving missing adventurers and trafficking, the constabulary moved with remarkable efficiency. Using the senile old vendor as their starting thread, investigators followed the trail and swiftly identified Anna's source: a notorious slave-trading ringleader operating in the black market.
From the ringleader's hideout, the constabulary recovered a crude wooden wand, and at that point Orum and the others could finally confirm that the slave girl was indeed Anna, cleric of the Shield of the Mountains.
However, even the slave-trading ringleader himself could not explain where Anna had come from.
And within Port Zobek, no other members of the Shield of the Mountains had been found.
The trail seemed to end there, and the investigation stalled.
Faced with this baffling deadlock, Felix thought in silence for a long while before reaching a conclusion.
"Friends, if we want to get to the bottom of this, the most direct path is to ride for Kadia Village immediately and confront those villagers in person."
"That said, the risks are significant. We don't know what's waiting for us inside what appears to be a quiet village."
"It could be a gang of ruthless bandits, or fanatics devoted to some dark god, or something else entirely, something harder to deal with."
"There is good news, though. We now hold solid evidence confirming Anna's identity. The official constabulary of Viscount Malford's domain will have no choice but to intervene, and with their support, the danger we face will be substantially reduced."
"I've already filed a formal request for backup. Until we receive a clear reply, we stay here, rest, and recover properly rather than acting rashly."
That was Felix's philosophy: when a mission revealed anomalies that contradicted the original intelligence, hinting at unknown threats lurking beneath the surface, never rush in blindly. Watch carefully, advance one step at a time, because only by moving cautiously could every team member's life be protected to the greatest possible degree.
With the backing of an official authority, the peril of this mission would drop considerably.
As for the strategic planning, the negotiations with constabulary officers, and the meticulous logical reasoning that came with it, all of that brain-burning work was naturally left to the sharp-minded Felix and the knowledgeable Ronald to handle.
Orum, as the party's frontliner, had no need to exhaust himself over such complex mental labor in ordinary times. He only needed to weigh in when a final decision required deliberation, then execute: transform himself into an unstoppable engine of destruction and tear apart every enemy standing in the way.
Hidden within a team that shone so brilliantly, even Orum's staggering talent and ability seemed to mellow and dim, subdued and understated.
People would assume it was the Ice Hawks' excellent leadership and training that produced such results. It would not occur to them to consider what kind of extraordinary creature Orum himself truly was.
"Captain Felix, did you spot anything strange or interesting at the auction?" Orum set down his newspaper and asked casually.
"Hm." Felix paused his writing, then said thoughtfully, "There were quite a few things at that auction that genuinely surprised me."
"Orum, have you ever seen an ogre? The kind that stands three meters tall, covered in blue skin?"
"Never," Orum answered honestly, shaking his head.
By this point Orum's adventuring experience was already considerable. He had encountered common low-level monsters like goblins and bugbears, and had also come face to face with forest elves, withered treants, a red dragon, and minotaurs, the kind of legendary creatures that most adventurers might never see in a decade.
But in this brilliant and fantastical world, the number of magical races was truly beyond counting, as vast as the stars, and what Orum had witnessed amounted to little more than a drop in the ocean of the southern reaches of the Holy Garnian Kingdom.
This blue-skinned, man-eating giant was a perfect example. He had never encountered one, only caught scattered fragments of rumor in passing.
Felix's jade-green eyes lit up, his tone carrying genuine wonder. "Not just an ogre, but a rare two-headed ogre! Both heads can chant spells simultaneously, multiplying the power several times over!"
"A two-headed ogre?!" Orum was shocked, his pupils contracting sharply.
He struggled to even picture it: a massive blue-skinned beast with two roaring heads, both mouths chanting magic at the same time. What a sight that must have been.
"And the two heads were fighting each other!" Noticing the shock on Orum's face, a trace of pleased satisfaction crossed Felix's features as he happily added the detail.
"They were fighting each other?!" Orum's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.
Felix then launched into an enthusiastic account, describing in vivid detail all the entertaining things he had witnessed at the auction.
Among them: a group of arrogant, contemptuous noble scions had been deliberately driven up in price by a coalition of vengeful adventurers, ending up humiliated in front of the entire hall.
They had made bitter enemies on the spot, and in all likelihood, a bloody game of pursuit and ambush would unfold in the shadows before long.
The stories were more gripping than any performance, and Orum listened with genuine delight, fully absorbed.
As they talked, Felix drew two rare lots from his dimensional bag, both finely crafted magical devices imbued with arcane power.
The first was a silver bracelet capable of casting a remarkably practical spell: Cantrip, Prestidigitation.
Effect: a foundational incantation intended for daily training among apprentice mages.
The caster could produce all manner of minor magical tricks at will, such as a faint spark dancing at the fingertip, a sudden gust conjured from nothing, an inexplicable soft sound, or an odd smell of unclear origin.
It could also clean the surface of small objects, subtly alter the taste of food, create temporary magical marks, or even briefly summon a faint illusory image that lingered for a moment before fading.
The spell was something of a universal necessity in adventuring life.
It could help kindle a campfire or assist with polishing armor, and while a single application lacked the thoroughness of a dedicated Purify spell, its strength lay in versatility and the almost trivial amount of magical energy it consumed.
With repeated use, the small effects accumulated, and even stubborn grime could eventually be scrubbed away.
This meant that during wilderness missions, Raygore would no longer need to spend hours scrubbing his heavy plate armor by hand.
The bracelet had sold for eight hundred gold coins. As Felix put it, that was quite a reasonable price, practically a bargain.
The second item was a blue cloth pouch embroidered with golden magical patterns.
It was a dimensional bag, simple in function but enormously practical: it could hold up to two cubic meters in volume, so long as the total weight did not exceed three hundred kilograms.
The value of a dimensional bag required no argument. Every adventuring team regarded them as treasures. Whether hauling supplies or carrying spoils of battle, a dimensional bag dramatically improved a team's mobility.
Precisely because of this, the pouch's price had been jaw-dropping from the start, with a base bid of eighteen hundred gold coins.
At the auction, countless adventurers and nobles had set their sights on it with hungry eyes, yet Felix's considerable wealth ultimately discouraged all of them.
When he jumped directly from three thousand to four thousand gold coins in a single bid, the entire hall fell silent, and every competitor quietly surrendered.
"Jumping straight to the highest number is the cleanest approach," Felix explained. "Going back and forth only invites spiteful bidding from people who have no real business competing. That costs more in the end."
Hearing the final price, Orum let out a slow, stunned breath.
"Truly worthy of the captain. A titan among the wealthy, and genuinely terrifying. Does the Gremaine family own a gold mine? How does he have this much money?"
After a night's rest at the Golden Vessel Inn, the Ice Hawks team was in the middle of breakfast the following morning when a piece of extraordinary news arrived.
The constable who served Viscount Malford was a knight who had achieved professional rank. Upon learning of the grave crimes concealed within Kadia Village, he was overcome with righteous fury and deep distress.
This knight was willing to personally lead ten armed retainers to accompany the Ice Hawks to Kadia Village.
"There couldn't be better news than this. We leave immediately!" Felix, upon hearing it, broke into undisguised elation.
A professional-rank knight with ten armed retainers behind him was a formidable lineup by any measure.
With allies like that, no matter how much trouble was hiding in Kadia Village, it could be swept clean.
The Ice Hawks prepared to move out, and before long they came face to face with the old knight, whose expression was severe and whose manner carried an air of rigid gravity.
Muller Bredd sat atop a tall black destrier, his steel plate catching the morning light in cold, sharp glints.
His face was carved and weathered with age, a long white beard drifting in the breeze, and his aged eyes held only an unrelenting coldness.
Behind Muller rode ten cavalrymen, each mounted on a warhorse, each wearing heavy full-face visors and light armor, military-issue longswords strapped to their backs. They were as silent as iron, their collective presence carrying a weight that pressed down on those nearby.
The Ice Hawks' carriage rolled forward and came to a steady stop before the old knight.
"Ice Hawks, Felix Gremaine?"
Muller raised those eyes, cold as winter frost, and fixed them on the golden-haired young nobleman aboard the carriage.
"That's me," Felix replied, nodding in acknowledgment.
Felix had always harbored a particular dislike of nobles, and Muller's attitude was considerably colder than he had anticipated, bordering on openly strange. Given that, Felix saw little reason to offer the man any particular warmth in return.
"Move out."
Muller's gaze shifted away without lingering on the Ice Hawks' carriage, and he gave the order in a clipped voice.
In an instant, eleven warhorses surged forward like thunder, charging down the road ahead at full gallop.
The Ice Hawks' carriage fell in close behind, and within moments the whole procession had vanished around the bend where the road forked.
Trailing behind the Ice Hawks' carriage was a second carriage, newer-looking and plain on the outside, with Orum at the reins.
This second carriage was ordinary in appearance but concealed something significant within: in addition to the various supplies purchased in Port Zobek, it held a cloaked wanderer, a female wolf-person wearing a hood pulled low.
Merina's fluffy ears and full tail were far too conspicuous to hide in open company. In the black market she had managed with the hood, but out in the open countryside, if Muller came asking questions directly, there would be no satisfying answer to give.
If Muller discovered that Merina was a wolf-person, a creature of the dark races, he had the authority as a constable knight to cut her down on the spot. It would not matter that she was rational, that she had committed no crimes. None of that would exempt her.
For this reason, Felix had deliberately rented the second carriage and assigned Orum to drive it, keeping Merina completely hidden from Muller's line of sight.
To Muller's side, Felix's explanation was that Orum was one of their party's servants, tasked with looking after their equipment and supplies.
Dividing the procession into two separate carriages offered two clear advantages.
The first was concealing Merina's existence, removing any pretext for Muller to put her to the sword and then report the Ice Hawks for harboring a dark creature.
The second was flexibility. Should Felix and the others find themselves in a bind, Orum and Merina could act as a hidden reserve, entering the field when it counted most and producing an impact no one had anticipated.
Orum guided the carriage along the road at an easy, steady pace. It was the tail end of summer, with autumn quietly advancing, and the breeze that met them carried a pleasant chill that made the air feel clean and refreshing.
Watching the houses along the roadside grow sparse and scattered, Orum felt a peculiar sensation stirring in him, as if he were pressing deeper and deeper into the untamed wilderness.
Then Merina's voice drifted out from inside the carriage.
It was timid, barely above a whisper.
"Orum... can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead," Orum replied easily.
"You're not going to stab me in the middle of the road and bury me somewhere, are you?" Merina's voice had begun to tremble. "Splitting off this carriage... that wasn't to make it easier to get rid of me, was it?"
"Why would I do that? I'm not a murderer," Orum said, caught off guard. "Are you suffering from paranoia?"
Taking advantage of the flat, smooth road to keep the carriage steady without much effort, Orum couldn't help glancing back into the carriage interior.
Beneath the shadow of her hood, Merina's delicate, lovely face had crumpled into something resembling a bitter melon, tears streaming freely down her cheeks and soaking the whole of her face.
"I'm sorry, Orum, I really didn't mean to doubt you, I just... I'm just so scared..."
"If I'd known things would turn out like this, I might as well have died back during that last adventure..."
Watching Merina spiral downward, her crying growing heavier and more desolate by the second, Orum felt a dull ache build behind his temples.
This was clearly something beyond simple sadness, a genuine psychological wound.
Orum was no Ronald. He had no finely honed therapeutic instincts or practiced words of comfort. He tried his best to console her, spending what felt like a small eternity talking, and accomplished nothing except wearing out his own voice.
Then Merina lowered her head, and her words dissolved into a low, murmuring stream, almost like a chant, as she began to recount her miserable life from childhood onward.
Unable to bear it any longer, Orum eased the carriage to a stop along the roadside, then climbed back into the carriage interior.
"Eat this."
He dug something out of a travel bag and, without a word of warning or preamble, pushed it into Merina's mouth.
"Mmph, oh my, it's so spicy!!"
In an instant, Merina felt as if her tongue had been pressed against an open flame. Her entire face flushed red at a visible rate, turning as ripe as a summer apple.
"What did you just feed me?! Why does my whole body feel hot?!"
"Spicy dried fish. A local specialty from Port Zobek." Orum calmly held up the small strip of fish between his fingers, its surface glistening with red oil and releasing an irresistible savory, briny aroma.
"Want another one?"
"Boo-hoo... yes, give me another one!"
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~ Push the story forward with your Power Stones