Chapter 22: Kiara.
**THE NEXT MORNING - PROMOTION QUEST BRIEFING**
Astrid Blackthorn spread a map across her desk, her fingers tracing a route that wound through forests and hills toward a cluster of marked locations.
"Your promotion quest is straightforward in concept, nightmare in execution." She tapped a circled area. "Thirty-five ogres. They've been terrorizing villages along the Cybal trade route. Kidnapping travelers. Stealing supplies. Generally being the kind of problem that requires B-rank adventurers to become A-rank or die trying."
Sirenia studied the map with tactical precision. "Thirty-five is a war band. Organized?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Led by a chieftain who's smarter than your average ogre—which admittedly isn't saying much, but still." Astrid pulled out sketches of the creatures. "Eight feet tall. Muscle dense enough to stop arrows. Thick hides that turn blade strikes. And they fight in coordinated groups."
"Lovely," Lhoralaine muttered.
"The good news? You have an S-rank hero with you." Astrid's eyes shifted to Hexia, who stood silently by the window. "The bad news? This is *your* assessment. Which means Hexia can participate, but the kills need to be yours. Understand?"
"We understand," Sirenia confirmed. "When do we leave?"
"Immediately. The ogres are camped in caves three hours north. There's also..." Astrid hesitated, then pulled out another document. "A secondary objective. Slave traders were spotted on the same route yesterday. Thirty-five men transporting captured children—all girls, ranging from seven to fifteen. We've confirmed they're heading toward the black markets in the southern territories."
The temperature in the room dropped.
Hexia's voice was flat, empty. "Give me their exact location."
"Hexia—" Astrid started.
"Their. Exact. Location." Each word carried the weight of inevitability. Not a threat. A promise.
Astrid met his eyes and saw something that made her—a woman who'd faced dragons and survived—suppress a shiver. "Two miles east of the ogre caves. They're moving slowly because of the cargo. You'll intercept them before they reach the territorial border."
"Good." Hexia turned from the window, his face a mask of controlled fury. "We'll handle the slave traders first. Then the ogres."
"The promotion quest requires—"
"The promotion quest can wait an hour. Children can't." His crimson eyes held no compromise. "Unless you'd prefer I go alone and let them handle the ogres without me?"
Astrid raised her hands in surrender. "Point taken. Just... try to leave some alive for questioning. We need to trace their network."
"Ten survivors," Hexia said. "Enough to spread the word that slave trading near Briarkeep is a terminal career choice. The rest die."
"That works."
---
**THE ROAD NORTH - TWO HOURS LATER**
They rode in silence, three horses moving at steady pace through morning mist that clung to the ground like reluctant ghosts. Hexia led, his posture relaxed but eyes constantly scanning. Behind him, Sirenia and Lhoralaine exchanged glances—communicating without words the way people learning to work together eventually did.
"You're planning something brutal," Sirenia said quietly. Not a question.
"Yes."
"We're with you. But Hexia?" She urged her horse alongside his. "Remember we need information. Need survivors who can talk."
"Ten will talk. Trust me—after watching their friends die, they'll be very motivated to cooperate."
Lhoralaine moved to his other side. "And the children? How do we handle traumatized victims while executing their captors?"
"We don't let them see the executions. We secure them first, move them away from the violence, then handle the trash." His voice was clinical, detached. Planning logistics rather than feeling the horror of what they'd find.
"You've thought this through."
"I had two hours on horseback. I've imagined thirty-five different ways to kill them. Narrowed it down to the most efficient twelve."
"Only twelve?" Lhoralaine's attempt at humor fell flat.
"The others were too slow. We're on a schedule."
The mist began to clear as they crested a hill. Below, a rough encampment sprawled beside the road—wagons circled like a fortress, guards posted at intervals, and in the center...
Cages.
Hexia's hands tightened on his reins. Even from this distance, he could see the small figures huddled inside the iron bars. Could imagine their fear, their despair, their desperate hope that someone would save them.
"Sirenia. Lhoralaine." His voice was steady, but underneath—something cold and terrible stirred. "When we go down there, you'll see things that will make you angry. Channel that anger into precision. We're not here for vengeance—we're here for rescue and elimination. In that order."
"Understood."
"Also—one of you needs to be ready to comfort children while the other helps me with containment. Choose now who does what."
They looked at each other.
"I'll take the children," Lhoralaine said. "I'm... better with emotional support. Sirenia's better in combat."
"Agreed," Sirenia confirmed. "I'll help secure the traders, then assist with executions if needed."
"It'll be needed." Hexia dismounted, leaving his horse ground-tied. "Wait for my signal. I'm going to scout their numbers first."
"Hexia—"
But he was already moving, disappearing into the tree line with the practiced silence of someone who'd learned to hunt before he'd learned to heal.
---
**THE SLAVE CAMP - SCOUTING**
Hexia moved through the forest like smoke given form. No wasted motion. No unnecessary sound. Just efficient, deadly progress toward his target.
He counted as he went. Thirty-five traders as reported. All armed—swords, crossbows, clubs. Organized in shifts. Professional enough to be dangerous.
And the cages...
Thirty children. Not the reported number, but close enough. Girls ranging from young to teenage, their faces hollow with fear and resignation. Some cried quietly. Others stared at nothing with the blank expression of people who'd already given up hope.
One girl in particular caught his attention—fifteen or sixteen, with long crimson hair and fierce emerald eyes that still held defiance despite the chains. She sat protectively near the younger children, whispering to them, keeping them calm.
*A fighter. Even now.*
Hexia memorized the camp's layout. Guard positions. Weapon locations. Escape routes. The cages were centrally positioned—which meant any rescue attempt would be immediately noticed.
Unless the guards were... distracted.
He smiled. Not with warmth or humor, but with the cold satisfaction of someone who'd just solved a particularly satisfying tactical problem.
Then he melted back into the forest.
---
**THE PLAN**
"Thirty-five traders. Thirty children in four cages. Guards rotate every two hours—we caught them mid-shift, so they're at their most alert." Hexia drew in the dirt with a stick, mapping the encampment. "We hit them in three phases."
"Phase one?" Sirenia asked.
"I walk in alone. Visible. Unthreatening. Ask to buy the children."
"That's suicide."
"That's distraction. While they're focused on me, you two circle wide and position near the cages. When I give the signal—"
"Which is?"
"You'll know it when you see it. Trust me." He continued drawing. "Phase two—I take out the leadership. Fast. Brutal. Loud enough that everyone panics but focused enough that the children aren't in immediate danger."
"And phase three?"
"You two secure the children. Move them into the forest. Get them away from what comes next." He stopped drawing, looked up at them. "Because phase three is when I stop being "nice" and become efficient."
Lhoralaine swallowed. "How many survivors did you say we needed?"
"Ten. I'll make sure they're the ones who run instead of fight."
"And the fighters?"
"Will learn that some choices have permanent consequences."
They studied his face—the empty eyes, the cold determination, the absolute certainty that what he was about to do was justified. Neither argued. They'd both seen what these people were transporting. Both understood that mercy had its limits.
"Alright," Sirenia said finally. "We trust your judgment. But Hexia? Don't lose yourself in this. Don't let the killing become easy."
"It's already easy. That's what worries me." He stood, brushed dirt from his knees. "Get in position. Give me ten minutes, then watch for the signal."
They disappeared into the forest—Sirenia moving left, Lhoralaine right, both using the skills they'd honed over years of adventuring.
Hexia waited. Counted seconds. Controlled his breathing.
Then walked into the slave camp like he owned it.
---
**THE EXECUTION BEGINS**
"Afternoon!" Hexia's voice was cheerful, carrying across the camp with false warmth that made several guards jump. "Beautiful day for commerce, isn't it?"
Thirty-five men turned as one. Hands went to weapons. Crossbows raised. The atmosphere shifted from routine boredom to hostile alertness in a heartbeat.
A large man—scarred, grizzled, clearly the leader—stepped forward. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Potential customer." Hexia's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I heard you're transporting merchandise. I'm interested in purchasing. All of it."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? And what's a pretty boy like you want with thirty brats?"
"That's my business. Are you selling or not?"
Laughter rippled through the camp. Dark. Mocking. The laughter of men who'd done terrible things and never faced consequences.
"Oh, we're selling. Question is—can you afford it?" The leader's grin showed missing teeth. "Thirty girls? Prime merchandise? That's expensive."
"Name your price."
"Three thousand gold. Each."
"Ninety thousand gold for children?" Hexia's eyebrows rose. "That seems excessive."
"Supply and demand, boy. Now—you got the coin, or you wasting our time?"
Hexia reached into his pouch. Slowly. Deliberately. Every guard's attention locked on his hand, wondering if he was actually stupid enough to carry that much money.
"I have something better than gold." He pulled out... nothing. His hand emerged empty.
Confusion rippled through the camp.
"What—"
"I have justice."
The temperature dropped.
Hexia's eyes went cold—winter made manifest, emptiness given form, the absolute zero of someone who'd decided you were already dead.
"KNEEL!"
**Tyrant's Plea.**
Gravity multiplied around the leader. Twenty times normal. Fifty. A hundred.
His knees shattered like porcelain. His legs bent backward with cracks that echoed across the camp. He slammed face-first into the ground hard enough to break his nose, his jaw, several teeth. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he tried to scream and couldn't—the pressure was too much, forcing air from his lungs, preventing breath.
"WHAT THE—"
Hexia moved.
**Guillotine.**
The nearest guard's head rolled before his brain processed the attack. Blood fountained from the stump of his neck. His body stood for a heartbeat before collapsing.
Two more charged. Hexia's blade flashed twice. Both heads hit the ground simultaneously, expressions frozen in shock.
"KILL HIM! KILL—"
But Sirenia and Lhoralaine were already moving.
**THE RESCUE**
Sirenia reached the first cage as guards converged on her position. Her sword flashed—not killing strikes yet, just disabling. A blade across the back of a knee. A pommel to the temple. Efficient violence that cleared space without permanent harm.
"Lhoralaine! Cages!"
Lhoralaine materialized beside the iron bars, her twin swords already moving through the locks. The metal parted like butter under her blades—quality steel enhanced by proper technique.
"Everyone stay calm!" Her voice carried authority despite the chaos erupting around them. "We're here to rescue you! When the doors open, run into the forest! That direction!" She pointed toward the tree line away from the battle.
The children stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.
The crimson-haired girl spoke first. "You're... you're not with them?"
"Gods, no. We're adventurers. We're getting you out." The first cage opened. "Move! Now!"
The younger children hesitated until the redhead stood. "Come on! This is our chance!" She gathered the smallest ones, herding them toward safety with the efficiency of someone used to taking charge.
Lhoralaine moved to the next cage. Then the next. Behind her, Sirenia held the line—her sword singing as it deflected attacks, her movements flowing with the grace of someone who'd trained with an S-rank warrior for six months.
She wasn't killing. Not yet. But she was building quite the collection of unconscious bodies.
Meanwhile, Hexia was conducting his symphony of violence.
---
**THE SWORDSMAN'S WORK**
Twenty-five men remained standing. Hexia stood in their center, blade held loosely, body relaxed.
They circled him like wolves around a rabbit.
They'd made a critical miscalculation.
A crossbow bolt flew from behind. Hexia's hand moved in a blur—catching the bolt mid-flight, reversing it, throwing it back. It punched through the shooter's eye, embedding in his brain. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
"Twenty-four."
Three rushed him simultaneously. His sword traced a horizontal figure-eight. Three heads rolled in different directions.
"Twenty-one."
A mage in the back started chanting. Fire gathered in his palms, building toward a spell that could incinerate everything within fifty feet.
Hexia's hand rose. Black and crimson energy coalesced into a sphere above his palm.
"**Chaos Meteor.**"
The sphere shot skyward, disappearing into the clouds. The mage's eyes widened with understanding—too late. The meteor descended with apocalyptic force, targeting just him.
The impact vaporized the mage and everyone within twenty feet. The shockwave threw others off their feet. A crater appeared where six men had been standing.
"Fifteen."
The remaining traders broke. Half ran toward the forest. Five charged desperately at Hexia. Five stood frozen in terror.
Hexia's blade flickered. The five who charged became five headless corpses in the space between heartbeats.
"Ten."
He turned toward the runners. Drew a breath. His eyes tracked their paths with predatory precision.
Then he threw his sword.
The blade spun through the air like a living thing. It caught the first runner through the spine. The momentum carried both man and sword forward into the second runner. Both went down in a tangle of limbs and steel.
"Eight."
Hexia walked toward them. Unhurried. Inevitable as death itself.
The eight survivors—five frozen, three wounded on the ground—watched him approach with the kind of terror usually reserved for nightmares made flesh.
He retrieved his sword. Cleaned it on a dead man's shirt. Sheathed it with the deliberate care of someone performing a ritual.
"You eight have a choice." His voice was conversational, almost pleasant. "You can answer every question we ask about your operation, your clients, your network. Or you can die screaming. Choose now."
"We'll talk! Gods, we'll tell you everything!" One man fell to his knees, tears streaming. "Just don't—don't do what you did to them to us!"
"Smart." Hexia gestured toward where Sirenia was finishing her containment. "My companion will handle your interrogation. Lie to her even once, and I'll demonstrate why that's a bad idea. Understood?"
Eight frantic nods.
"Good. Now kneel and put your hands behind your heads. Try to run, and you'll learn that I'm significantly less merciful when annoyed."
They obeyed with desperate haste.
---
**AFTERMATH**
The children huddled in the forest clearing, Lhoralaine sitting among them, offering water and soft words. The youngest had finally stopped crying. The oldest—the fierce-eyed redhead—sat slightly apart, watching the tree line where Hexia would eventually emerge.
"Is he... is he going to hurt us?" A young girl whispered.
"No, sweetheart. He's scary, but he's on our side." Lhoralaine smoothed the child's hair. "He saved you."
"He killed all those men."
"Yes. Because they were bad men who hurt children. That's what heroes do—they fight monsters."
The redhead's voice cut through the quiet. "He's not a hero. Heroes are supposed to be nice. He's... something else."
"What is he then?" Lhoralaine asked gently.
"He's like a weapon that chose a side." The girl's emerald eyes held understanding beyond her years. "Like me. Like I'm going to be."
Before Lhoralaine could respond, Hexia emerged from the trees.
Blood stained his clothes—other people's blood, not his own. His face was expressionless, his movements careful. He carried the weight of what he'd done with the practiced ease of someone who'd learned to compartmentalize violence.
The children shrank back instinctively.
All except the redhead. She stood, meeting his eyes directly.
"Thank you for killing them."
Hexia blinked, surprised by the directness. "You're... welcome."
"My name is Kiara. I'm fifteen. I want you to train me."
"What?"
"You heard me. I want to learn what you know. How to fight like that. How to protect people." Her fierce gaze didn't waver. "They took us from different villages. Killed our families. Told us we were worthless. And I couldn't do anything except keep the younger ones from giving up hope."
She stepped closer, ignoring the blood on his clothes.
"Never again. I'll never be helpless again. So teach me. Please."
Hexia studied her—saw the determination, the pain channeled into purpose, the desperate need for agency in a world that had stripped it away.
He saw himself. In another life. Another time.
"We're heading to Cybal City after this. Then sailing to another continent. It's not safe."
"Nowhere is safe. But I'd rather be unsafe learning to fight than unsafe pretending the world is kind."
Sirenia appeared, leading the eight surviving traders bound and terrified. "Interrogation's done. We have names, locations, client lists. The guild can dismantle their entire network from this."
"Good." Hexia looked at the eight men. "You'll be handed to the authorities in Cybal. Tell them everything you told her. Cooperate fully. Because if I hear you recanted your testimony or tried to escape justice, I'll find you. And next time, there won't be mercy. Understood?"
Eight terrified nods.
"Take them to the horses. We still have ogres to handle."
As Sirenia led the prisoners away, Hexia turned back to Kiara. "I can't train you right now. We have a quest to complete, a ship to catch, a world to save."
"I didn't ask to be trained right now. I asked to be trained eventually." She crossed her arms. "And I'm patient. I'll wait. In Cybal City, if that's where you're going. I'll help with the other children—get them to safety, find them homes. Then when you come back..."
"If I come back."
"When you come back," she repeated with absolute certainty. "You'll teach me. Deal?"
Hexia extended his hand. "Deal. But Kiara? Training to be a weapon isn't the path to healing. It's the path to becoming what I am—empty, dangerous, and wishing you'd chosen differently."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll become something better—what you could be if you weren't so determined to hate yourself." She shook his hand firmly. "Either way, it's my choice. You respect choices, don't you?"
Despite everything, Hexia smiled. Actually smiled—small and sad but genuine.
"I do. Alright. When we return from our journey, I'll train you. But you have to promise me something."
"What?"
"Don't lose your empathy in the process. Don't let the violence hollow you out. Stay human even when you learn to be a weapon." His smile faded. "Because that's the part I failed at. Learn from my mistakes."
"I promise." Kiara glanced at the younger children. "I have plenty of reasons to stay human. They're right there."
"Good. Now let's get everyone to safety. We have ogres to fight."
---
**TO BE CONTINUED...**
*The slave traders eliminated. The children rescued. A promise made to a fierce-eyed girl who would one day be more than she seemed.*
*But first—thirty-five ogres. A promotion quest. And the demonstration of what happens when three warriors work in perfect coordination.*
*Because Hexia might be S-rank, but Sirenia and Lhoralaine need to prove they deserve to stand beside him.*
*And ogres? Ogres are about to learn that lesson the hard way.*