The Slave Instructor and the Mercenary's Reckoning
Rai stood at the edge of the deserted alleyway, arms crossed, his usual lazy grin nowhere to be seen. The group had just arrived in Beluken—three full days of watching and waiting, and all they had accomplished was confirming that Laslo was still breathing. No one had died, no one had been taken, and the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
Diana stepped forward, blue hair catching the weak light like a blade. She flashed that bright, irreverent smile they all knew so well.
“Well, then. Since everyone’s had time to think things through, shall we get the real talk started?”
Philia and Zeroa remained silent, their faces unreadable. The weight of Abigail’s past hung heavy on all of them. Hearing the full story during the long journey to Beluken had been bad enough; now they were standing here, miles from the academy, ready to jump straight back into the fire.
Diana scanned the empty street one last time.
“I’m in. I’ll help.”
“… …”
Philia and Zeroa didn’t react. They were already leaning toward the same conclusion as Diana—Abigail needed backup, no matter how much she hated being rescued.
“… … Is it really worth stirring up trouble over a single piece of pasture land?” Zeroa muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. The details Rai had shared earlier still felt like a nightmare. Poisoning livestock, framing an innocent woman, building an empire of fear—all to grab a stretch of common ground that barely mattered to anyone outside the village.
“Direct experience or not, that’s the kind of garbage that deserves a blade in the back,” Diana replied, voice low and venomous. She closed the distance between herself and Zeroa, her eyes gleaming with that same mocking light she’d worn since their childhood. Zeroa turned his head away, jaw tight.
“But… wait.”
Diana tilted her head, suddenly playful again, as if the seriousness had never existed.
“Tell you what—let’s play a little game. Why did the Bernies Empire invest so much in conquering Keilen Kingdom?”
“… … To end the Era of Strife?” Zeroa answered without hesitation, his voice soft but certain.
Diana burst out laughing, the sound echoing down the alley like a challenge.
“Logistics, Zeroa. Simple as that.”
“… …?”
Keilen sat right at the center of the continent, blessed by geography. Nine kingdoms shared borders with it—more than anyone else. That meant trade routes flowed straight through its territory, carrying goods and gold like rivers. The Bernies Empire, vast as it was, could only touch four. Once they took Keilen, they could choke off every single supply line on the continent.
Diana tore open an apple with a casual flick of her wrist, bit into it, and kept talking as juice ran down her chin.
“Controlling logistics means controlling the entire continent. The Empire isn’t even trying to crush the other kingdoms anymore—toll rates actually dropped after the war ended. But they still have the ultimate weapon: economic pressure. Keilen gave them that weapon. And they’re not going to let go of it anytime soon.”
She passed apples around. The rest of the group took one each, the crisp scent cutting through the heavy air.
“Over twenty years of war left most kingdoms half-dead. When the Empire lowered those tolls, suddenly everyone started dreaming of making a killing on the same routes. That’s where our targets come in.”
Zeroa frowned, still not quite understanding.
Abigail’s list wasn’t random. Every single name on it had been involved in the village’s pasture scheme—poisoning the livestock, framing Linda, and turning a harmless communal field into their own private empire.
Diana kept her voice steady, guiding Zeroa through the maze of motives.
“Trade routes never run empty of money. People always need food, shelter, and protection. Just keeping the caravans moving costs a fortune every single day.”
She finished her apple and tossed the core aside.
“As the peace era arrives, those trade routes will only grow. The northern Bel Federation has no choice but to funnel everything through Kpen. Laslo and his crew saw that perfect spot—the common pasture that’s almost impossible to sell off once you control the herd. Small villages manage livestock as a group, and outsiders rarely get a fair price.”
Zeroa’s brow furrowed deeper.
Yandes had been the one with the foresight. He found the single best junction where every merchant path converged, and the only way to control it was to own the pasture outright. But the village was stubborn. No one wanted to sell. Yandes had other ideas.
He’d poisoned the livestock, blamed Linda, and watched the village collapse under his feet. Then he’d fled Beluken with a fortune and built his own criminal machine.
“Money… money is everything,” Zeroa whispered, biting his lip until it bled. He’d seen poverty up close, working himself to exhaustion just to survive. Simple coins could buy you nothing but survival. But one lucky haul—like the one that made Yandes untouchable—changed everything.
Laslo, Julio, Yandes… all of them had risen on Abigail’s revenge list because they’d helped steal that land. And now they were here, in the heart of Beluken, where even the city guard answered to them.
Diana’s eyes swept the street. Every shady figure, every thug, every noble who looked at her with fear was Laslo’s man.
“Abigail won’t be able to push through the front door. Assassination or abduction, probably. But what’s the big boss thinking, just standing there watching?”
“… … You’re talking about me?”
“Besides you, who else is here?” Diana glanced at Philia with a wicked little grin. “Rai entrusted the pass to you, and he specifically told you to stop Abigail. Zeroa and I? We’re just backup. He gave you all the authority.”
Philia’s expression didn’t change, but Diana caught the flash of irritation beneath it. She hated being left out. Philia, ever the proud Sun Knight, hated being second-guessed more than anything.
“I’m not the leader here,” Philia said quietly.
“You are. You’re the one with the pass. And you’re the one who’s supposed to block Abigail. That means I follow your orders.”
Philia hesitated, fingers tightening on the hilt of her sword.
Laslo was the kind of man who deserved to die. Plain face, unassuming body, yet the information broker Elin had pulled up painted a completely different picture—manipulations, betrayals, bodies left in alleys. A man who sold his own humanity without blinking.
Helping Abigail would be faster. Cleaner. And the world would be better off.
“Already set the bait,” Diana muttered.
“Got it,” Philia replied, but her voice was tight.
Before anyone could react, a group of men stepped out from the shadows ahead. Laslo’s men, all of them. Their leader—a burly figure in rough clothes—bowed deeply.
“Imperial nobles? The boss would like to see you.”
The man’s posture was stiff, almost respectful, despite the gang around him. Diana and Zeroa exchanged glances. Philia studied the man’s face for a long second, then nodded once.
“Lead the way.”
The group started moving, Zeroa trailing just behind with a nervous smile.
“Lucky they didn’t ask for weapons,” he whispered to Diana.
Diana only chuckled. The confidence in Zeroa’s voice was almost cute—until you remembered that Laslo’s crew had brought real muscle.
Ahead, Diana spotted a poster tacked to the wall. Her expression darkened.
Philia leaned in. The wanted poster showed a face they all recognized—green hair, eyes like blades. The artist hadn’t bothered with details, but the eyes alone said murder.
“… … Is Abigail helping them?” Zeroa asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Diana ripped the poster down, laughing softly.
“Rough guess? They probably followed her and got suspicious when they saw that face. Anyone with eyes would start looking over their shoulder.”
Philia and Zeroa stayed silent. They understood perfectly.
The man in front spoke again, voice smooth as oil.
“Watch your steps. And remember—my name is Karta.”
He was in his early forties, the kind of man who’d survived the entire Era of Strife. The aura rolling off him was sharp enough to cut glass.
Inside the massive estate, the lobby stretched like a palace. Dark-brown hair, unremarkable face—Lasro stood waiting. The man who ruled Beluken like a king in all but name.
“Welcome. The Bel Federation may be nothing compared to the Empire, but we welcome you all the same.”
The moment he spoke, the temperature in the room dropped. Even the strongest men in the group felt the oppressive pressure. Philia and Diana didn’t relax for a second.
Lasro’s eyes flicked to the man standing at his right—Karta. The name was familiar. The killer who’d once stood beside Laslo.
“Forty-something?” Diana whispered.
“Early forties,” Philia answered.
They shared the same thought: this man had cut his teeth in the war. Not just raw strength—experience that cut deeper than any blade.
Lasro smiled at Karta, who returned the gesture with a slight bow.
“Why the summons?” Philia asked, voice cold as winter steel.
Lasro’s smile widened, but his eyes stayed sharp.
“I was the one who wanted to meet you. Why are an Imperial noble sniffing around my territory?”
Diana stepped forward, voice dripping with mockery.
“Doesn’t your boss have better things to do than babysit a bunch of rats?”
Lasro chuckled.
“Quite the rude one. Still, I sleep like a baby. You should try it sometime.”
The tension snapped like a bowstring. Twenty men moved at once, hands on weapons. Zeroa’s shield was already up before he realized it.
Clap.
Karta stepped forward, voice calm and measured.
“Everyone, stand down.”
The room quieted. Karta bowed to Lasro.
“May I speak for a moment?”
“Speak.”
Karta turned to Philia.
“Gentlemen and ladies, this kind of confrontation benefits no one. Let’s step back a little and talk like civilized people.”
Philia’s gaze lingered on Karta for half a second. Then she turned back to Lasro, a slow smile spreading across her face.
“I was going to say the same thing. But I’ve changed my mind.”
Karta’s eyebrow rose.
“Changed your mind how?”
“I’ve seen that kind of look before. Pretty face on the surface, but underneath it’s nothing but greed and filth.”
Lasro’s smile froze.
“Quite the angry tongue. Did someone do something to you?”
“Not me. But I bet someone else did. Abigail.”
The name hit like a slap. Lasro’s head snapped toward the voice.
“Shut your mouth!”
A blur of red hair exploded from the crowd—Abigail, holy sword Baekgwang gleaming, already moving. Karta turned, but it was too late. Diana and Philia drew at the same moment, blades flashing. Abigail carved through three men in the blink of an eye, blood spraying, and pressed the tip of her sword to Lasro’s throat.
“Pleasure to meet you, you bastard.”
Lasro didn’t move. Abigail gripped his hair, yanked his head back, and backed away, forcing everyone to stay exactly where they were.
“Anyone touches the boss’s head and I’ll make sure the whole street knows who did it.”
A shaky cheer rose from the crowd.
“Stay down!”
Diana’s eyes burned. She stepped forward, but Abigail’s warning glare kept her back.
Lasro’s men hesitated. Karta was missing. Philia’s voice cut through the air like lightning.
“Karta’s nowhere to be seen.”
“Following Abigail, probably,” Diana growled.
“Then the rest of you are just meat. Hit them hard and fast. Zeroa, cover our backs!”
Philia raised her left hand. A glowing brand flared to life—Kwang-roe (Wild Thunder) awakening. Blue lightning crackled along her sword as she swung.
Philia and Diana tore through the enemy like a storm. But the moment Abigail’s explosive mana stone detonated, the building began to collapse.
The ceiling groaned. Pillars cracked. Dust rained down in thick clouds.
Diana looked up, laughing despite everything.
“What an annoying woman.”
“Same here,” Philia muttered, wiping blood from her cheek. “Keep swinging. I’m done being polite.”