What Was Done Shall Be Repaid
"Whoa~ What brings you here, mage? Looking for a slave or two, perhaps?"
"I wanna look around first. I'll be the judge of what's useful."
"Understood. This way, please. Not all the stock's in yet for the next auction, but I'll show you where the gathered goods are."
Thanks to wearing Libert's skin flipped inside out, my build had bulked up enough that I didn't need Rina giving me a piggyback ride. The original owner—this lich who wandered around with a voice-altering golden butterfly mask and bundled up in his mage robe—had a reputation that kept suspicions low. And if anyone got nosy, a bit of coin would shut them up quick.
But right now, coldly speaking, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that the line between me being me and being Libert was blurring, my sense of self growing hazy.
'I'll get revenge! Revenge! Dekilaz! I'll smash everything you bastards have!'
Donning Libert's face skin had dragged along his memories tied to Dekilaz. It wasn't just some errand boy gig for a beggar king—this guy had real connections with Dekilaz's boss, the bald musclehead called Garfield.
Garfield didn't stop at bootlegging booze through Dekilaz. He had his hooks deep in this port city's slave market, using brawny slaves as "security" or whatever you wanna call it. Major player in running the place.
Makes sense, really. This territory thrives on relay trade with foreign ships from all over, so money flows like water. The lord here, Count Cyrano de Colorado, came from a family that's been in maritime commerce for generations. Nose like a bloodhound for cash. Places like this, where dirty money rolls, are bound to attract rats. Better to manage them systematically, so he used Garfield and Dekilaz for that.
And Garfield, in turn, subcontracted to Libert—treating vagrants flooding the city or bankrupt nobodies as disposable labor or straight-up slaves.
'Sub-sub-subcontracting pyramid. Jeez, takes me right back to those shady Earth contractors.'
So why'd I come here? Revenge, obviously. Or more precisely, a side effect of wearing this flipped skin—I'd inherited the original owner's grudge.
Before heading in, I'd tipped off the local temple about the illegal booze racket. Selling booze blessed by the gods without the Holy Kingdom's say-so (read: taxes)? Blasphemy. They wouldn't let that slide easy.
'Sure, the Holy Kingdom's just as money-hungry! Temples are run by people too. No cash, no wheels turning... Same everywhere humans live.'
With the intel on bootleg hoards in the warehouse district near the docks, temple inspectors would swarm the slave market and the count's castle soon enough. Everyone tied to this place? Their lives were done.
Blasphemy meant religious trials at minimum. I'd overheard from beggar scrounging that heretics got grilled without mercy.
The fate of those slaved here by Libert and Dekilaz? Unknown. Worst case, Dekilaz and the count wipe evidence—slaves included—to cover the booze trail. Might sound paranoid, but this world's got liches, demons, angels, gods. Fanatics who won't tolerate filth, humans hunting humans for slaves with zero regard for rights. Would they free the slaves? Hell, surviving would be a mercy. Massive bloodbath incoming.
'Me? I showed up at the temple as Libert, so no ID issues with a dead man's face...'
One job left: Bust out all the slaves trapped here!
This proved I wasn't some demon's minion—that I was human. A test of my humanity.
Escape plan was simple. Warp scroll array I'd prepped for emergencies. Just like the lich who'd bought us here—gather the slaves and warp out.
Twenty-four in total, split even men and women, twelve each in three iron cages.
If they'd been together, rip the scroll and gone. But scattered, so had to round 'em up.
"Here we are, mage. Pick any you like and let me know."
"Got it. Bring 'em all here, gather in one spot."
"Pardon? Sorry, but..."
"Not possible?"
"Well... even for a mage, that's..."
'Tch. No dice? Fine.'
"Apologies. Could we do it one group at a time? First... you got the coin, right?"
"Annoying... Fine. Check the payment first."
Clink!
"Whoa~ Heavy bag. Real class..."
Stab!
"Guhk!"
No time to waste. Lured the head guy in with the coin purse, then jammed a knife in his throat.
Normally, not my style—but Libert's memories, skills, and this morphed body handled the knife like a toy. Easy peasy.
Sliced it out with a twist. Blood sprayed like a fountain. As he clutched his neck, face twisted in shock and rage, glaring—I sneered.
"Would've been easier if you'd just rounded up the slaves nicely, huh?"
"Grrrk! You bastard..."
Gurgle—thud!
Thud-thud!
"What was that? Hey! What's going on in there?"
"Shit... More inside?"
Guards inside to stop slave breaks, probably. I bolted toward the voices hearing the boss drop.
Aimed knife at the throat again, but this guard had skills—tilted his head, barely dodged, drew his sword from the hip, and charged.
Shing!Clang!
"Intruder! Intruder here! Zepp's down!"
'Fuck! Tangled now!'
Blocked a few sword swings, but his longsword outranged my knife, and reinforcements were coming. Bad spot.
Couldn't drag this out. Slave rescue failed; staying meant death.
"Mage! It's a mage! Rush him, don't let him cast!"
"Kill him!"
Rooooar!!
'Damn it! Scroll and bail... Oh!'
Cornered, dodging the encirclement, I spotted an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. And right below, cloth covering goods—perfect kindling.
No hesitation. Hurled my knife full force at the lamp. It crashed down, flames spreading on the cloth.
Whoosh!
"You mad bastard!"
"Fire!"
"Water, now!"
"Damn, why's a mage here..."
"Do I look like a mage to you?"
Whoosh!
"You?!"
"Libert?!"
"Why's that fucker in a mage robe?!"
"Did Libert kill the mage customer?"
No exit anyway. If I warped now in the robe, they'd chase the "mage." So I stripped off the robe and mask on purpose—framing Libert as the arsonist.
Some recognized him. Perfect.
They'd think Libert killed the robe's owner and torched for revenge.
"That beggar scum! Kills our VIP customer and torches the slave pens?!"
"Hahahahaha!! Burn! All burn! Revenge is mine! Don't think I'll go quietly! Dekilaz! Garfield! Hahahaha!!"
Roaring flames!
"Shit! Grab the goods and evac!"
"Wrong! Fire's spreading to the slave cages! Save 'em all and we'll burn too!"
"Fuck! Libert! You won't escape alive!"
"Hahaha! Die with me, you dogs!"
Against my will, mad laughter spilled out, words about dying together. My identity blurring into Libert's.
Good thing I'm a guy; a woman's skin might flip my gender too.
"Fuck it! Abandon ship! Block the entrance! Trap that bastard Libert!"
Stampede!
"Save us!"
"Don't leave us!"
"Please, at least open the door!"
Whoosh! Boom! Clank!
Flames raged, filling the warehouse. Dekilaz goons fled, barred the door—wanting to roast me alive. But it made escape easier.
Rifled the dead knife guy's pockets for keys, freed the slaves in the cages.
Toxic smoke and fumes dropping them. Me? Inhaled it fine. Probably Dantalian's contract tweaking my body.
"Wanna live? To me, now! Hurry!"
"Y-yes!"
"Save us..."
"Shut up and cluster, fuckers! Grab my clothes tight!"
"A-all... gathered..."
Rip! Whirr! Hummm!
Checked 'em all, tore the warp scroll—clean getaway.
Though the unfamiliar nausea hit hard!
"Fuck... First smoke since basic training chem-bio back in the army."
* * *
Tak! Tak!
"What the hell bullshit is this?! Slave warehouse on fire?! And the arsonist is that beggar punk we just smashed?!"
"Y-yes, boss!"
Thwack!
"Cough!"
"You call that a report?! Losing the warehouse to some beggar scum?!"
In Dekilaz's hideout, boss Garfield kicked his reporting underling in the gut, roaring like a mad bull. Some goons averted eyes from his fury.
Fire at the slave pens—but no bodies found. Slaves stolen.
"Urk! Sorry! But he came disguised as our regular customer..."
"What? Regular? Who?"
"Y'know... the masked robe guy who always bought kids at auctions for big gold!"
"So... you idiots couldn't ID him properly, let a beggar in mage clothes waltz in, opened the warehouse, and lost the slaves?"
"Sorry! Never thought..."
Stab!
"Agh! Guh..."
"Die, useless fuck!"
Thud!
"Huff! Huff! Fuck... You don't double-check visitors?! Is this how you've been operating?!"
"Garfield bro, calm down, hear me out. That regular? Someone tried peeling his mask once... pissed him off, burned a guy to ash that day. Reported last year, right?"
"Oh? Yeah, some punk died messing with a nasty-tempered mage."
"Yep. That was our regular. We smoothed it with 50 gold."
"Sigh... So Libert wore that mage's robe to the warehouse? And you showed him slaves like usual?"
"Yes. He must've killed the mage, disguised. Revenge on us."
"That scum... Beggar dares?!"
Rattle!
"Big trouble, boss! T-temple folks here!"
"What?! Temple now?!"
"B-booze thing... Holy Kingdom inspectors..."
Thud!
"What the fuuuuck!! Is this Libert too?! That bastard! I'll kill him! Tear the city apart, find Libert! No—bring me his head! Got it?!"
"""Yes!"""
Garfield, eyes bloodshot with rage, sent goons citywide. Never found Libert.
Garfield, port city's booze king sans Holy Kingdom permit, got pinned for the crime during investigation. Count Colorado cut him loose as the fall guy—burned at the stake in the plaza.