Seeing this, perhaps stirred by that lingering sentiment of the Caged Bird deep in his heart, Sang’s heart began to race. He sincerely hoped that this werewolf could escape to safety.
Come on—
Come on—
Just a little more; you’re almost there! You can do it!
However.
In the instant the werewolf brushed past Sang, an invisible blade streaked in from who-knows-where and severed the werewolf’s head clean off. In a flash, its head hit the ground.
Blood splattered at Sang’s feet, staining part of his white sweatshirt as well.
About ten seconds later, a vampire youth leaped down from above. If judged by human years, he appeared around eighteen, about five foot nine, with purple medium-short hair and handsome features. He gripped a knight’s sword in his hand—undoubtedly the source of the attack, powered by a superpower.
It seemed to be some kind of wind-based superpower.
Sang recognized him. Wasn’t this the noble youth who had been fawned over by a group of girls at the ticket booth just a few hours ago?
He landed beside Sang and nudged the corpse on the ground with his foot. “Sigh… Seriously, why run? Little wolfman, do you know you’re a featured auction item? You’re expensive! Even I feel bad for chopping you down.”
He claimed to feel bad.
But his tone betrayed not a shred of regret—pure mockery, a blatant desecration of life.
This was Morton Montgomery, eldest son of the Montgomery Family. The Montgomerys were a marquis family specializing in the slave trade, with vast influence spanning wide territories. Affiliated with the Cape Family, they were an absolute force to be reckoned with—one of the Dark World’s overlords.
The next moment, Morton Montgomery noticed the blood on Sang’s clothes. “Uh… Esteemed guest, my apologies for interrupting your shopping. I hope it hasn’t ruined your mood.”
With those words, he even performed a gentlemanly noble’s bow.
A bloodstained mad rogue acting all refined—it was utterly revolting.
In that instant, an inexplicable anger surged within Sang…
Truth be told, he desperately wanted to punch the vampire youth flying, teach him to respect life… But just then, Aisha Hodhua reached out and gripped Sang’s wrist tightly, signaling him not to act rashly.
“Heh… How curious. A human bringing along a Blood Race maid. Which family are you from?” Morton’s gaze shifted to Aisha’s blood eyes, curiosity piqued.
Sang merely kept his head down in silence, ignoring him.
Seeing this, Morton didn’t press the issue. This was his “company,” after all. Though Sang was just a human, he was still a customer—no need to offend someone over nothing. Who fights with money?
“Enjoy your shopping~”
With that, he dragged the werewolf’s corpse away with elegant strides.
Time passed—Sang couldn’t say how long.
Slave Street, which had fallen somewhat quiet, buzzed with noise once more. Everything continued as before, save for the long streak of blood on the ground, silently recounting what had just transpired.
Staring at that blood trail, Sang fell silent.
Just a few hours earlier, he had dared to dream of changing the True Ancestor, thereby changing the world.
But now, he realized his own insignificance once again. He couldn’t change a thing.
He lacked even the power to deal with a single slaver. Thinking of those human girls who had called out “big brother,” he felt even more lost and dejected.
Learning the sword might not save humanity after all.
…
Afterward.
Sang wandered on dispiritedly. He had planned to grab a few human slaves at random and head home, but halfway there, he spotted a familiar figure. Barefoot, draped in gray sackcloth, with a beret on his head—like any common vagrant.
It was none other than Shika! The werewolf young lord who squatted on the mountain in his territory and refused to leave.
What was that guy doing in a place like this?
As Sang pondered this, Shika suddenly quickened his pace and headed toward a building at the deepest end of Slave Street.
Sang didn’t really want to deal with him, but on second thought, they were neighbors of a sort. Coupled with a vague sense of foreboding, he decided to follow. Aisha Hodhua’s combat prowess was modest at best—a bronze-level knight—and her senses were average too. She hadn’t noticed Shika and simply trailed after Sang.
Moments later.
When Sang entered the building, the sight before him left him stunned. He had thought it was an ordinary residence, but it was anything but. This was a slave auction venue, much like the one in northern Windsor. Most attendees were nobles, many wearing masks to conceal their identities.
Yet there were plenty of humans here as well.
Sang paid them no mind. His focus was solely on Shika.
Leveraging the innate superior senses of his body, he quickly located Shika, who stood at the frontmost edge of the spectator seats.
“That idiot… What the hell is he doing there?” Aisha Hodhua finally spotted Shika and asked.
“I have no idea…”
No sooner had the words left his mouth.
In Sang’s line of sight, Shika faced a purple-haired vampire youth not far off. His claws were slowly extending—he was undergoing semi-werewolf transformation. He was about to strike!
His target was Morton Montgomery.
It all made sense now.
Shika had just witnessed Morton Montgomery slaughter one of his kin and was burning with murderous intent.
Before Sang could rush forward to stop him, Aisha Hodhua noticed Shika first. She stepped up, seized his wrist, and dragged him straight out of the auction hall. Sang followed right behind.
The three ended up in a secluded corner at the end of Slave Street.
Shika was furious at the interruption. His body hair bristled wildly, his nails lengthening on his limbs like a rabid dog, radiating aggression. “Damn it! Why did you stop me!?”
“Are you an idiot? You think you can assassinate a noble in public like that?” Aisha Hodhua scolded.
“I don’t care! I have to avenge my fallen kin!”
“Avenge? With what—you?” Aisha sneered.
Sang had a rough gauge of Shika’s strength from the northern war. At best, a silver-level knight. Impressive? For an individual his age, sure—strong enough to stir trouble in some backwater, maybe even kill a minor noble and escape.
However.
This was the Central Hub. The target was a marquis’s son, master of one of the Dark World’s slave markets—a terrifying existence.
Ten lives wouldn’t be enough!
Shika stubbornly retorted, “I don’t care! Even if it’s one-for-one, I’ll kill that bastard!”
As Aisha prepared to argue further, Sang cut in. “Hey, don’t do something pointless… Have you seen today’s auction list?”
“What are you getting at?” Shika shot back.
Shika was illiterate—how could he have read it?
“Sigh, that’s why I hate reckless brutes… Let me tell you, today’s list alone—including the one that tried to escape and got killed—has three werewolves. Even if you off Morton Montgomery today, the other two still get sold. And tomorrow, more werewolves will be auctioned off… You can’t change a damn thing…”
