Cratel, the Black Dragon's Lair
"Th-thank you for your service."
Simaan took the pass and bowed his head politely.
"What did he eat wrong? Why's that guy acting like that? The one who always stuck behind Yulta and strutted around."
"Yeah, weird. Come to think of it, Yulta's not around either."
"He said he'd be late prepping the premium goods. Wonder what amazing stuff he's bringing to make such a fuss."
"Leave it. Slave traders are all the same anyway. We're just scraping by doing this too—none of our business."
The guards manning the city gates muttered as they eyed the pale-faced Simaan. Living in a place called the slave city, even they seemed embarrassed by the trade. They checked the pass but didn't bother peeking inside the carriage.
Lucky break.
Adel, hiding inside the carriage, breathed a quiet sigh of relief at avoiding unnecessary trouble.
"Sniff... sob..."
"Please... spare us..."
But that relief was short-lived. Sobs echoed from within the carriage, striking Adel's ears.
"......"
Inside the iron-barred cage built into the carriage sat five or six young girls and women, along with a boy. He didn't know if they'd been sold or captured, or what stories brought them here, but none had boarded willingly.
"Shh."
Adel looked at them.
"If you follow my lead, you'll be free. No fussing."
His words left them staring in bewilderment.
To meet the Liberation King, I need this city. But the more I see, the less I like it. Part of me wants to just raze it all...
Besides his own carriage, countless others streamed through the gates, like a festival at the front door.
What civil war in the central lands? What chaos of war? The slave market's booming.
Adel clicked his tongue.
No matter how turbulent the continent, the rot among the elite never faded. Watching them stirred memories of nobles from his past life.
Did I fight for scum like that...?
His mouth felt gritty, like it was filled with sand.
Of course, not all were trash. Occasionally, good nobles came to buy and free slaves. But that didn't make condoning the trade acceptable.
If I wipe them out, I lose my shot at the Liberation King. And before that, I need to find the child with the demon's spirit stone.
Adel steadied his breath, swallowing his rage. He was just delaying his outburst by a little.
"W-we've arrived."
Simaan cautiously opened the carriage door upon reaching the warehouse.
The interior held nothing special—just more iron cages like the one in the carriage, clearly for storing slaves.
"Simaan."
"...Yes?"
"Do as I said: take Yulta's seal to the exchange and check the records. Your face is more known than mine—better suited."
"Understood."
"Don't try anything stupid. Think smart. Overthink it, and you might lose the head doing the thinking."
Gulp.
Simaan swallowed dryly and nodded.
"And give them food, let them rest. Any other slaves in the warehouse too. Got it?"
"...I'll remember."
Adel stepped out, pointing at the captives.
"Oh, do you know a Karono?"
"Karono...? You mean the gladiator Karono? The slave fighter?"
"Slave fighter?"
"Yes. Anyone working here knows him. He's Durka's right-hand man—the champion of the weekly arena."
Adel nodded slightly at Simaan's words.
Didn't know he started as a slave soldier. I only heard he led rebels with the Liberation King to topple the cartel and make this a free city.
After his tribe's fall and leaving the desert, Cratel had already become a free city by the time Adel first ventured to the continent. That explained why the current slave-trading spectacle grated so much.
"When's the arena?"
"Hm... I'd have to check, but I think it's every Friday..."
Simaan rolled his eyes as he answered.
"Ah, that's today."
[Adel, wouldn't it be more accurate if you just find that Durka guy and ask directly? No need to loop around using Simaan.]
Kalderet, emerging from the warehouse, stretched his stiff body this way and that as he spoke.
[No low god's blessing here either. Gods have truly abandoned this place. No one to stop you.]
He sounded eager to rampage right then.
"If it were just Cratel, sure. But the slave city hosts nobles and bigwigs from kingdoms and groups. They're rivals, even at war. Trouble could erupt any second."
[Hmm... so?]
"Yet no fights break out among them. Means an absolute power keeps them in check."
Adel scanned the streets.
Amid the crowds, familiar faces from his memories occasionally appeared.
Interesting. Not just idiot collectors—agents from the central nine kingdoms' secret orgs too.
Adel doubted they came solely for slaves.
Sure, rare elves or dwarves pop up at auctions sometimes. But these war-mongers wouldn't risk hard-to-tame specials just for that.
They had another purpose for visiting this city, and Adel knew it well.
To meet Cratel's master.
The city's lord wielded such force that even rival kingdoms kept silent in each other's presence.
"What brings you?"
"Here for the arena."
"Oh, perfect timing. It's on today. You can join right away if you want. Sound good?"
Adel had stopped at a vast tent housing a massive iron cage. Spacious enough for hundreds, the cage hummed with faint magic.
[Fancy prison they've built.]
Kalderet eyed it, sharing his impression.
Not a prison. A stage.
Adel gazed at the cage with eyes reminiscing old memories.
"No owner means not a slave... freelance gladiator? Hardly anyone challenges the arena these days."
"That's right. Any issue?"
"Haha, no. Freelancers are even more welcome. Back in the day, martial pilgrims flocked here. Now, with the war... and the champion, entries dried up."
"That impressive?"
"You challenging without knowing the champion? Original... Lived in a cave or what?"
"Desert, not cave."
The attendant smirked at Adel's reply.
"Hunter, eh? Makes sense you're out of touch. Like my son—advice: turn back."
He flipped the nameplate he was carving.
"Desert monster-hunter vs. champion? Suicide. You'll thank me later."
"Beat the champion, and I meet Durka?"
"Pfft! Big dreams, kid. New champ catches Durka's eye, sure... but your skinny neck hits the floor first. Playtime's over—scram."
[Kuh, kuhehe... Skinny little neck. Cute, so cute.]
Kalderet chuckled at the attendant's words.
Squeeze.
[Hey, hey! W-wait! Let go!]
Adel pressed his palm firmly into Kalderet's forehead.
"Worry about finishing that nameplate."
Grrrrr...
The black wolf growled, forehead squished. The attendant paled, nodding hastily as he completed the gladiator tag.
"Don't blame me if you lose your head. World's got more to see."
"More to see..."
Adel smirked at the attendant's words.
"Don't worry. I've seen plenty—enough to sicken me. Better if you don't see that world."
"...?"
The attendant, not grasping it, just tilted his head.
"Whatever. Don't forget—evening, 6 PM."
Adel pocketed the tag.
[Arena, huh... Humans do the dumbest things. Paying to watch fights when war's everywhere outside—endless battles on any battlefield.]
"That's a real warzone. Humans crave others' peril from safety."
[Worse than gods.]
Adel gave a wry smile at Kalderet's words.
"True enough. Look at those ticket lines for the arena. Wars claim countless lives, yet it's packed."
Tag in hand, Adel climbed to the top of the city's tallest building. The tower overlooked all of Cratel, the slave city's symbol.
Unlike other cities, Cratel's layout was unique: pillars radiating from the central tower like intertwined branches, forming a circular wall.
"But the arena isn't just for gladiator duels. I told you—Cratel's evils rival or exceed Ruinxen's free city chaos. Yet order holds."
It evoked a nest.
"What's the reason?"
[Hmm...]
"A creature worse than gods lurks here."
[Who?]
"Dragon."
Adel swept his gaze around.
[No way... a dragon here?]
Kalderet feigned surprise, looking down at the view Adel scanned.
In that moment, the nest-like city took on new meaning.
"Yeah. Cratel's master, Durka—just a fake name dragons use. This place..."
And he understood what Adel had said before entering the city, sending the horse back around.
"Is the lair of the Black Dragon, Shan."