Chapter 94: Cages Beneath the Town

Arin and his guild members had completely surrounded the Slave Trade Guild’s hideout.

Every single person gripped their weapon tightly, knuckles pale from the pressure, muscles coiled and ready to respond to any sign of danger.

Swords were half-drawn, bows already nocked, mana quietly circulating beneath the skin of spellcasters.

The air around them felt tense, heavy, as though a single spark could ignite chaos.

Though most of the Crimson Arc Guild members did not fully understand what was happening, one thing was clear to all of them.

Judging from the solemn expressions etched across their guild master’s face, this mission was far more important than any they had undertaken before.

No one dared to ask questions.

Fear and anticipation mixed uneasily in their chests.

Thoren, however, stood apart from them all.

He remained calm, unnervingly so.

His deep blue eyes were locked onto the seemingly ordinary building before him, a structure that appeared no different from any other abandoned building in the town.

If not for the suffocating aura of undead energy seeping through its walls, no one would have suspected the horrors hidden inside.

Without a word, Thoren lifted his hand and issued a silent command.

Two undead servants stepped forward immediately, their heavy footsteps echoing faintly against the stone ground.

The remaining undead figures stayed behind him, forming a quiet, impenetrable wall of death.

Even if the enemy had prepared traps, Thoren was unconcerned.

The two undead leading the charge were both Level 16 High Noble Stonewalls.

With their Middle Iron Grade armor, they were more than capable of handling whatever lay ahead.

Boom!

A violent explosion shattered the entrance.

The wooden door disintegrated into splinters, and a thunderous shockwave rippled outward.

One of the undead was hurled backward by the blast, its massive body crashing into the wall behind it.

Stone cracked under the impact, spiderweb fractures spreading outward from the point of collision.

For a moment, several Crimson Arc Guild members flinched, convinced the undead servant had been destroyed.

Yet the Middle Iron Grade armor held.

Though dented and scorched, it absorbed the brunt of the explosion. The undead’s body twitched, then shifted.

With a low, grinding sound, it shook its head and slowly pushed itself out of the crater it had created.

Dust and rubble fell from its shoulders as it rose once more.

Thoren narrowed his eyes at the ruined entrance. He paused briefly, considering the enemy’s preparations, before making another decision.

Ten massive shields materialized in midair before him, each forged of dark mana and reinforced with necromantic runes.

Without hesitation, he handed the shields to the two Level 16 undead servants.

Now armed with additional defense, Thoren doubted that any mere explosion could halt their advance.

“Move,” he gave a mental command.

They descended into the corridor.

Explosions rang out continuously as they advanced deeper into the hideout. Traps detonated one after another but the shielded undead marched forward relentlessly, completely untouched.

Ahhhh!

“Die—!” a crazed voice screamed as a man burst out of a small side room.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted with madness. It was clear he no longer cared about his own life.

With a feral howl, he swung his saber wildly toward one of the undead servants.

Whoosh!

The undead raised its shield and effortlessly deflected the attack.

In the same motion, it countered.

A single, precise strike.

“Ahh—!”

A strangled groan escaped the man’s lips before his body was cleaved cleanly in two. Blood splattered across the stone floor, steaming faintly as it mixed with lingering undead energy.

Thoren spared the corpse no more than a single glance.

Then he continued forward.

The hideout stretched far deeper than he had anticipated.

Corridor after corridor branched outward, lined with numerous rooms. The scale alone was unsettling. This was not a temporary base.

It was a long-established operation.

They soon arrived at what appeared to be a small hall.

A large board was mounted on the wall, covered with old mission postings and scribbled notes. Beside it stood a worn wooden counter, its surface scratched and stained.

“Mission hall,” Thoren muttered, disgust curling his lips.

He did not stop.

The deeper he went, the darker the hideout became. The undead energy thickened, clinging to the air like fog.

Breathing became uncomfortable, the stench intensifying with every step.

Many rooms lay empty, stripped clean in a desperate attempt to erase evidence.

Others.

Others reeked of filth.

Thoren wrinkled his nose as the smell assaulted his senses. Rot, blood, and something far worse lingered in the air.

At the far end of the hideout, he began to see dried human blood smeared across the ground and splattered along the walls. Deep claw marks gouged into the stone suggested desperate struggles.

In some rooms, crude writing covered the walls.

Words etched hastily, some smeared with blood.

In one corner, a single human fingernail clung stubbornly to the stone.

Thoren’s steps slowed.

For the first time since entering the hideout, his expression darkened.

He could not imagine what the people imprisoned here had endured.

The violence.

The suffering.

The inhuman torture surpassed anything he had expected, even in the abyss.

He inhaled deeply, forcing his boiling emotions down.

Further inside, the rooms grew smaller, barely large enough for a single person to enter. Anyone stepping inside would have to bow just to fit.

Rat-like.

Cramped.

Oppressive.

Within them, there were only cages.

Iron cages.

Heavy chains were bolted into the walls, thick with layers of dried blood. The metal had long since absorbed the color of suffering, permanently stained.

The air reeked.

Blood.

Iron.

Rotten flesh.

Thoren’s stomach churned violently as he stepped back out of the room.

Don’t let me get my hands on you, he thought grimly.

He had never hated anyone the way he hated the Slave Trade Guild.

The abyss itself was already cruel, placing unbearable pressure on the human race. Yet these people treated humans as nothing more than livestock.

Even beasts deserved better.

His pace quickened.

Rage surged through his veins.

He was no longer interested in searching each room.

He needed the leader.

He needed to make them beg for death.

Suddenly, the sound of battle echoed from another corner of the hideout.

This time, Thoren broke into a run.

“Kill them quickly!” a voice screamed, unleashing a powerful spell. “We can’t let the Grim Reaper reach us!”

The Crimson Arc Guild members were struggling to hold their ground. Panic flickered across their faces as the Slave Trade Guild fighters attacked with reckless abandon.

They fought as though their lives no longer mattered.

The Crimson Arc Guild had been guarding what they believed to be an abandoned section of the hideout. None of them had expected a hidden escape route to be located there.

“Don’t meet their attacks head-on!” a tank shouted, raising his shield just in time to block a slicing wind blade. “We only need to stall until the guild master arrives!”

The battlefield descended into chaos.

The Slave Trade Guild members fought with maniacal expressions, deliberately trading injuries for injuries. The situation grew increasingly dire for the Crimson Arc Guild.

Blood soaked their armor.

Fear clawed at their hearts.

Just as they prepared to flee, a voice echoed from behind the Slave Trade Guild fighters.

At that moment, the battle froze.

It was as though an invisible hand had seized the battlefield and forced it to a halt.

The Slave Trade Guild members shivered.

Their throats went dry.

Slowly…hesitantly…they turned their heads.

And there he stood.

A young man.

Silver hair.

Deep blue eyes.

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