Slave Hunters
“Hyah!” Yoahim whipped the horse's reins hard and kicked its flank, urging it to even greater speed. He and Leon raced along the road like they were betting on who could get there first.
“Is that them?!”
Yoahim spotted a group cloaked in mantles with masks covering their faces. They were riding hard, but when they saw Yoahim and Leon charging toward them, they yanked their reins in panic. The horses whinnied and reared at the sudden stop.
The riders exchanged glances as Yoahim and Leon closed the distance rapidly. Their silent conference, conveyed through eyes alone, was swift. Without hesitation, they drew their weapons, kicked their horses, and bolted.
Yoahim smirked at the sight. They see us coming and don't run or try to talk it out? Yeah, they're definitely hostile. Leon's warning about pursuers hadn't been a mistake or misunderstanding.
“If they're not running, that's fine by me!”
“Hyah!” Yoahim cracked the reins again and drew the sword from his waist. Four of them charged with blades raised; one hung back, watching the fight unfold.
Yoahim and Leon split left and right without a word. Two each—simple math.
Clang! Swords met. The sheer force of Yoahim's strike sent his opponent reeling off his horse. The man rolled nimbly and sprang up, but Yoahim blocked his remount.
Yoahim clashed with the second pursuer, then wheeled his horse to chase. The steeds circled like predators eyeing tails, then lunged. Sparks flew from clanging steel as Yoahim aimed for the throat—but
Whoosh!
“Guh!”
A flying stone clipped his temple, stunning him. The world spun; by the time he recovered, he was on the ground. Shaking off the ache, he stood, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead.
The first fallen rider swung a sling threateningly.
Whoosh! Another stone flew, but Yoahim batted it away with his sword. Surprised, the man hesitated—then spun the sling again.
Yoahim lunged, but hoofbeats from behind made him whirl. Light flashed from his left hand—a mana bolt streaked out.
“Gah!”
The pursuer took a Magic Missile to the head and tumbled, dead on impact without even a proper fall. He hadn't expected magic.
Yoahim deflected another stone with his sword while pulling Ha Meks Han from his inventory. Snipers need their heads cracked.
Power surged into the grimoire; pages flipped with glowing light.
“Hah!”
The rider panicked as Yoahim blinked the distance in an instant. He dropped the sling for his sword, but too late—Yoahim's blade pierced his shoulder.
“Gaaahhh!”
Unable to grip his weapon, the man writhed. Yoahim raised for the kill—but
“Fireball!”
A roar of heat erupted. Yoahim looked up to see a flaming orb hurtling toward him.
“Fuck!”
Both dove opposite ways, rolling across the dirt, staring at the same threat. The pursuer chuckled darkly; Yoahim clicked his tongue.
“What were you doing back there? A mage, huh?”
The observer chanted again. Another fireball rose. Yoahim prepared black magic—but
Thwip! Crack!
Something whistled through the air, shattering on impact. Yoahim turned. Sasha stood on horseback against the wind, bow drawn, grinning.
“Can't let your guard down.”
“Thanks, Sasha.”
Yoahim seized the moment, slashing the fleeing rider's Achilles tendon. The man screamed and rolled.
“Looks like mine's done too.”
Leon approached leisurely, having dispatched his two with fluid dual-wield strikes. The horses, seeing heads roll, panicked and fled whinnying.
“Two for me, one for Master, one for Sasha. My win.”
Yoahim walked to his waiting horse. “Why's it one for me? I got two.”
“You didn't kill that one.”
Grabbing the reins, Yoahim retorted, “On purpose. Gotta interrogate. Can't kill 'em all if we need info on who's chasing us. What if they hit us again?”
“Kill 'em again if they come. Problem?”
Does this guy even think? Yoahim tsked and approached the writhing man, who tried crawling away—until Yoahim stomped his foot, eliciting a scream.
“Who are you? Who sent you?”
“Wh-what? We're just innocent travelers...”
“Magic Missile.”
Bam!
The bolt from his left hand smacked the man's head. Basic spell—no death from frontal hit, but it stung like hell. Yoahim smirked.
“Innocent travelers draw swords first thing? Might as well say 'friendly bandits.'”
He aimed his left hand. “Behave. Bullshit gets you another Missile.”
“R-really, we just... protected our stuff when you charged...”
“Magic Missile.”
“Urk... Torture won't change the truth. We're innocent tra—”
“Magic Missile.”
“Guh, bully me all you want, I won't say shi—”
“Magic Missile.”
“S-sorry! I'll talk, please...”
“Magic Missile.”
“Fuck! I said I'd talk!”
“Magic Missile. Don't say you'll talk—just do it, dumbass.”
After repeated bolts, the man convulsed like a madman, then blurted hysterically.
“Fuck! We're slave hunters! Trailing those dark elves to catch and sell 'em! Happy now, you piece of shit?!”
“Magic Missile.”
“Gaaaah! I talked—why?!”
“Obnoxious. And no casual talk, bitch.”
Yoahim raised a fist; the man cowered.
“Following Leon and Sasha to enslave them? Ah, from yesterday.”
They'd briefly shown their faces returning from the ruins to Barakan. These guys had tailed them since.
“Sorry, Master... because of us, you too...”
Sasha bowed gloomily. Yoahim waved it off, then eyed stiff-necked Leon.
“Not sorry?”
“Why? Born dark elf a crime? You a racist, Master?”
“...”
Yoahim let it drop. To the hunter: “Barakan bans slavery, though.”
Unlike others, Barakan was ruled by the Kalsara Council of great mages, not a lord. No slaves—all free folk.
“Catch in Barakan doesn't mean sell there. Other places. Capital's full of rich nobles. Elves are pretty—hot sellers. Dark elves too.”
“Nobles buy dark elves?”
Yoahim glanced at Leon and Sasha—elves and dark elves were beauties, different skin a unique allure.
“But dark elves worship evil gods. Don't nobles think they're too risky as slaves?”
“Heh... risk is the appeal. Like petting tigers or lions. Bragging rights.”
World's wide, idiots everywhere. Yoahim felt the truth anew.
“...Some from our tribe got hunted too.”
Sasha bit her lip. Hunted by slavers, attacked by paladins—dark elves' lives were nonstop suffering. Yoahim got her revenge drive now.
“So, what now?”
He turned to Leon and Sasha. “Kill 'em?”
“Obviously. Kill 'em. End of story.”
Leon licked his lips, twirling his swords. Looked more bloodlust than vengeance.
“W-wait! Kill me, you won't get away! Think our backers'll let you slide? We're key suppliers!”
Crime like slave hunting screamed backing. Yoahim nodded: spill.
“Witchkill's behind us!”
“Witchkill?”
“Infamous crime syndicate. Into every profitable crime. Word is, they deal with black mages too.”
Yoahim nodded at Sasha's explanation.
“Scary stuff. Kill you, they hunt us down?”
“Y-yes! Witchkill's relentless, cruel! They'll track you, tear you apart—worse! I swear! You'll regret it!”
Yoahim listened quietly, then: “Done?”
“Huh?”
“Your last words.”
“Did you hear me? Witchkill will—”
“Think I'm an idiot? How do they find us? Why avenge trash like you?”
“No, wai—!”
Yoahim slashed without pause. The head hit the dirt, rolling.
He stared a moment, then turned to leave. But the 'dead' eyes flared crimson.
[Wh-who... dares... op-pose... Wi-Wi-Witchkill...?]
Yoahim blinked. “What the fuck. Wasn't bullshit after all?”