Carmen (3)
After that, there was nothing left to hinder us.
The moment we entered their base, countless men swarmed out as if they'd received some prior warning, escorting us straight to the boss without a word of protest before backing off.
Honestly, I'd expected at least some resistance, but it went far smoother than anticipated, leaving me pleasantly surprised.
"I've already heard the story."
I'd worried they might be lying, but thankfully, that wasn't the case.
A man in a gray suit and black coat strode into the room, flanked by a horde of underlings—his eyes unmistakably those of a ruler.
"I'm Gillion, leader of the Ulpis Cartel."
He exchanged a light handshake with me before taking a seat across from us.
Then, as if appraising us, he scanned the faces of our group. Something seemed to bother him, and he began the conversation with an uneasy expression.
"One of our men caused you harm?"
"Regrettably, yes."
"And now you seek fitting compensation."
"Spot on."
He nodded as if he'd known it all along.
Then his gaze shifted quietly—to one of his own bounty hunters.
His eyes burned with barely contained fury, but he suppressed it, speaking calmly.
"Mind if I light up a cigar? I'm a bit rattled."
"Be my guest."
He raised his left hand, and a subordinate placed a cigar on it, lighting it up.
Gillion took a deep drag, his face twisted in discomfort, then suddenly pointed at the bounty hunter with his right hand—slashing downward in a decisive gesture.
"...B-Boss?"
The hunter's panicked question didn't last long.
The instant the signal dropped, his guards leaped forward, cleaving the man from top to bottom.
"Hoo..."
As if that hadn't quenched his rage, Gillion took a few more drags, his expression still troubled.
When enough time had passed, he stubbed out the cigar, tossed it aside, and fixed us with a meaningful look.
"...In our line of work, late news means losing your head. Word travels fast."
His eyes met mine.
More precisely, they locked onto my sword—that unassuming blade.
"Swordmaster. What is it you want?"
That single question revealed everything: why no one had stopped us, why the boss had come so readily, why his anger had erupted so fiercely.
One of his men had tangled with someone who looked like a Swordmaster. How could he not be livid enough to strike?
Time to milk this.
I'd planned to ditch the Swordmaster pretense, but if they were buying it, why not exploit it thoroughly?
"Impressive intel network."
"Can't survive the Dark District without it. We don't have your monstrous power."
He let out a self-deprecating laugh.
He knew full well that even all his men combined couldn't touch a hair on a Swordmaster's head.
So he approached with maximum humility.
"I'll accommodate anything possible."
"Quite cooperative."
"I'm no spring chicken, but I still want to live."
"Not embarrassed, bowing like this in front of your men?"
"Bowing isn't shameful—especially not to a Swordmaster."
"Still, you're the cartel boss, aren't you?"
"No matter our noble backers or current power, it's nothing before your blade. I know that."
Everything was going smoothly. The Swordmaster label stripped them of any leverage from their earthly influence. No more obstacles.
So I cut straight to it, no beating around the bush.
"You said to name my price?"
I pointed at a spot.
There sat the woman, still bound in restraints and ropes.
"Hand her over to me."
Keeping my finger trained on her, I reiterated clearly.
"I'd love to free every slave here, but protecting them all from you for life? That's beyond me."
"But this woman has caught my eye. You'll have to step aside."
A one-sided demand, but what could they do? He's stronger—overwhelmingly so.
Up close, he struck me as a cunning old wolf. Wolves are fierce hunters, but they don't bare teeth at tigers.
He wouldn't refuse.
"I've confirmed the restraints and limits. Remove them all. Then take your leave quietly with her."
I wanted nothing else from this cartel. No excessive demands—just the one thing, precisely.
Gillion glanced between my finger and her, hesitating before asking cautiously.
"...By 'this woman,' you mean the champion?"
"Champion?"
"That's what we call her. Undefeated in the arena."
That explained it. Her skills had stood out even earlier.
"Doesn't matter."
"She walked out of that pit on her own two feet. I respect her will. No more 'champion' title for her."
So hurry up and release her. Or you're all in deep shit.
I tapped my sword hilt, repeating my demand.
Just as he seemed ready to yield...
"Regrettably, that's impossible."
For the first time, he shook his head—no hesitation, pure refusal.
I got why he'd balk at losing such a valuable fighter, but after inviting any demand? No second thoughts?
With his life on the line?
"Why?"
"She'll kill us the moment she's free."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely."
"What makes you think that?"
I pressed, and he laughed. Just laughed—maniacally, for a long stretch—before spilling the reason.
"Because that's what we do."
"Escaped slaves? We drag them back and execute them publicly. Arena, beheading—whatever."
He kept laughing, madness gleaming in his eyes. The bloodshot veins clashed with his earlier suave demeanor.
"Look at her eyes, Swordmaster."
I followed his gesture.
There she was, restrained as before.
But her eyes... the former emptiness was gone, replaced by raw, feral killing intent. Anyone could see she yearned to rip Gillion apart.
"I can't risk it."
His certainty—that freeing her meant his death—steeled his resolve. Despite bowing to me throughout, this was his line in the sand.
"Even with mana-disrupting restraints, she tears through people. Killed twenty-five on her escape today."
"Knight-level, then."
"Knight-level? Most knights couldn't pull that off."
I'd thought they'd sent just one hunter out of arrogance, but no—the rest were already dead.
Allerton beside me stared at her in shock, unable to gauge her exact strength. If she matched or exceeded him, no wonder they feared her.
"She's too much for us once freed."
"Then why make a slave you can't handle?"
"No one buys slaves thinking they'll free them later."
Gillion grimaced, as if it were a headache. Fair point, but it didn't make me sympathize.
"Whatever. Not my problem. Meet my terms, and we're gone."
I just wanted her—nothing more. If she shredded Gillion in rage afterward? Not my concern.
"Decide quickly. Or should I let you have a last meal? I'll give you that much time."
I prodded him provocatively, to cloud his thinking.
"How dare you insult the boss...!!"
Suddenly, one of his bulkier men roared and charged, sword thrusting at me despite Allerton's blade intercepting.
"Think you can win?"
"..."
The blade pressed to my throat, tension electric—but I didn't flinch.
"One misconception here..."
"Rudeness flows from below to above."
To them, I was unequivocally a Swordmaster. Only a madman would swing at me.
"I'm not one of your goons. Why bow to a mere thug boss?"
I casually gripped the blade, shoved it aside, and smirked at Gillion.
"Your man's got guts. Wonder if his skills match."
Come at me, if you dare.
"Your underling thinks he can take me. What's your take?"
"How many swings do you think he'll survive?"
Gillion listened silently.
No excuses, no questions, no earnest reply. Just a wave of his hand—and another head rolled.
"Decisive."
"Cut danger at the root."
Whether his man lived or died, it threatened my safety—so off it went.
He stared at me, ignoring the corpse, then repeated himself.
"Still can't do it."
"No change of heart?"
"I'll die anyway. Screw everyone else."
If death was inevitable, he'd go down swinging viciously.
A true Dark District cartel head—shameless to the core.
"Fine. How about this?"
I needed to sway him.
But my current leverage wasn't enough.
So I offered a new incentive.
"If it looks like she'll kill you, I'll block the attack."
Of course, I won't.
Last time was a fluke; I had no such power anyway, and even if I did, scum like him didn't deserve saving.
But I declared it solemnly, as if sincere.
"...Can I trust that?"
"Your call."
Gillion eyed me suspiciously.
Rightly so—once he was dead, he couldn't call me out on breaking the promise.
And I had zero intention of honoring it.
But swaying his heart? Not my problem.
"...No third offer."
I drew my sword.
Slamming it point-down into the floor, I issued my final ultimatum calmly.
"I'm talking to you without blood because of my companions behind me."
"Don't want to dump a mess on Agehis."
"But even my patience has limits."
Refuse again, and you die.
The silent pressure hung heavy. He got the message.
"Isn't this your best bet? Heal, bandage—whatever. Highest chance you'll breathe."
Gillion pondered.
The answer was obvious, so I waited patiently.
From his view, trapped either way, he agonized over alternatives. After long thought, he decided.
"Release her."
His men panicked, but his word was final.
A presumed mage and others entered, approaching her restraints.
Complex mechanisms—they took time, but eventually, they all came off.
"Done."
A red blur flashed past, the woman surging forward at blinding speed.
"...!!!"
Before anyone could react, heads of Gillion's rear guards exploded one by one.
His men’s skulls scattered in an instant. Sensing doom, he bolted up to flee—
"Guess you heard our chat."
Another fountain of blood erupted beside him.
Her hand halted precisely at his throat.
Blood-soaked fingers clenched around his neck once, but after locking eyes with me, she eased off and lowered her arm.
"Consider one arm a bargain. You've killed plenty, after all."
"...My thanks."
She couldn't take his head—so she severed his right arm.
That arm, which had ordered countless deaths—including his own men just now—would command no more.
Blood gushed from the stump. He clutched it with his remaining hand, bowed to me, and retreated hastily.
"Now leave."
Once he was gone, leaving just us and her, I addressed the woman staring blankly around.
She turned slowly to me, expression complex—everything still unfamiliar, perhaps.
I repeated plainly.
You can go.
"No need to run, hide, or fight."
Because now,
"you can walk on your own two legs."
You're free.