Chapter 97: The End of the Slave Trade Guild – Part 2

Inside the main hall of the Slave Trade Guild, the atmosphere was solemn and suffocatingly heavy.

A grim silence hung in the air, broken only by the shallow breathing of those present.

Many wore deep frowns, their brows furrowed tightly, while others clenched their fists until their knuckles turned white. Rage, disgust, and restrained fury churned within their eyes.

All of them stared at the group of men lying on the cold stone floor.

Blood pooled beneath their broken bodies, soaking into the cracks between the ground.

Some groaned weakly, their breaths uneven and shallow, while others lay completely still, faces twisted in agony.

Many of them would not have hesitated to kill every single one of them if not for two reasons.

The first was the explicit order they had yet to receive from their guild master.

The second was Thoren’s presence.

With most of the Slave Trade Guild members already killed and the rest captured alive, the Crimson Arc Guild had been able to freely explore what remained of the hideout.

What they discovered within those walls, however, far surpassed even their worst expectations.

There, hidden beneath layers of secrecy and darkness, lay inhuman atrocities.

In one chamber, they found large barrels filled to the brim with human blood.

The thick, metallic stench assaulted their senses the moment the lids were lifted.

Some of the blood had coagulated, forming dark, sticky clots along the rims.

In other rooms, human body parts were hung from hooks along the walls.

Some were dried, shriveled and darkened with age.

Others were disturbingly fresh, still dripping with blood.

Livers, spines, hearts, lungs, and brains were carefully preserved inside glass jars filled with strange, murky liquids.

Faint marking glowed beneath the surfaces of the containers, evidence of necromantic rituals performed repeatedly within these walls.

Thoren, Arin, and the others stared in disbelief.

None of them had imagined that the Slave Trade Guild would sink to such depths of cruelty.

Elite awakeners who had survived countless battles in the Abyss had their stomachs churn.

The sheer scale of the guild’s evil deeds sent shivers down many spines.

In another room, they found piles of human bones stacked together, forming a grotesque mound that resembled a small mountain.

Skulls stared out blankly from the heap, their hollow eye sockets frozen in silent screams.

Then they discovered the operation room.

This was where fellow humans had been butchered.

Surgical instruments hung neatly along one wall, each polished and carefully maintained. On another table lay an assortment of torture devices.

Hooks, clamps, needles, and blades of various shapes and sizes. Many were stained dark with dried blood.

Thoren and the others did not dare imagine what kind of suffering these tools had inflicted.

Some of the women in the group could not hold back their emotions and broke down in tears.

Others turned away, retching violently as they vomited onto the floor.

Many of them had believed their missing friends and comrades had died during hunts in the Abyss, devoured by beasts or swallowed by unknown dangers.

Now, they knew better.

Most of them had not died at the hands of monsters.

They had been killed by fellow humans…used, butchered, and discarded for deranged purposes.

In one of the hidden chambers, Thoren discovered a wooden shelf filled with scrolls stacked neatly beside a heavy table.

He went through the scrolls one by one.

Most of them were instructions.

Orders.

Transactions.

All issued by a certain unknown group.

Thoren attempted to dig deeper, hoping to uncover the identity of the organization that controlled the Slave Trade Guild.

However, he quickly realized that most of the scrolls had already been burned. Only fragments remained, their edges blackened and brittle.

The few intact scrolls contained no deep secrets, no names, no locations, no clear leads.

But it was enough.

Enough for Thoren to confirm one crucial fact.

The Slave Trade Guild had not been operating alone.

Behind them lurked a far more powerful organization, one that controlled everything from the shadows, manipulating events with unseen hands.

Back inside the main hall, Thoren and Arin stood silently, gazing at the broken men sprawled across the floor. Neither of them showed any change in expression.

Arin had spent months in the Abyss. He had heard countless rumors of awakeners suddenly disappearing without explanation.

At the time, he had dismissed them without much thought.

This was the Abyss.

People die every day.

But now, standing in this hall, he realized how naïve and ignorant he had been.

The evil festering in the shadows went far beyond what most people could comprehend.

If the Slave Trade Guild had not targeted the wrong person this time, their secrets might have remained hidden indefinitely.

“Thoren,” Arin finally said, breaking the silence. “What are you going to do with them?”

This entire operation had been led by Thoren. Everything they had uncovered, every truth brought to light was because of him.

Without his overwhelming power, Arin and the Crimson Arc Guild would never have dared to storm the Slave Trade Guild’s hideout.

Thoren’s gaze shifted to Gilbert, who was lying among the others, groaning in pain.

“Why did you send your men after me?” Thoren asked.

His voice was calm and flat, yet everyone in the hall felt the biting cold hidden within it. A chill ran down their spines.

Gilbert struggled to lift his head. When his eyes met Thoren’s terrifying deep blue gaze, his body shuddered violently.

He had heard rumors of what the young man before him could do without hesitation, without remorse.

To testify to his cruelty, surrounding him were his own men, some with their tongues reaped out, others missing teeth ripped forcefully from their gums, bones crushed into paste.

Did he want to experience that kind of torment?

Hell no.

He would rather die quickly and forget everything.

Slowly, Gilbert opened his mouth. Blood coated his teeth and tongue, but at this point, the pain barely registered.

“In the last batch,” he said hoarsely, “you were the weakest. Your bio-data showed you came from an ordinary family.”

“That’s why we targeted you. We only target awakeners from ordinary backgrounds, people whose deaths wouldn’t draw attention.”

He paused briefly, then continued.

“More importantly, your profession. Everyone knows how outcast necromancers are. That makes you easy prey.”

Murmurs rippled through the hall.

Many furrowed their brows, unable to hide their discomfort. Some glanced at Thoren from the corners of their eyes.

But all they saw were calm, emotionless deep blue eyes.

“Where did you get this information?” Thoren asked, his voice unchanged.

“From the Federation Police, of course,” Gilbert replied, a twisted hint of pride seeping into his tone. “Our influence runs deeper than you can imagine. We have people embedded in powerful guilds and organizations.”

Thoren was not surprised.

Arin and the others, however, were stunned.

Their eyes widened.

Their jaws fell open.

“Impossible!” a female knight shouted, disbelief etched across her face.

“What do you mean, impossible?” Gilbert sneered. “Do you think we could commit such atrocities without backing from above? Tch.” He clicked his tongue in contempt.

Thoren ignored the reactions around him and asked the question that mattered most.

“Did you also target my sister?”

Gilbert hesitated for a moment, then shook his head slowly. “Since I took command of the Slave Trade Guild, I’ve never heard of any Starfall apart from you.”

Thoren said nothing.

But deep within his heart, his resolve hardened.

If the Slave Trade Guild had no information about his sister, then he would search elsewhere.

And that would be the Federation Police database.

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