Lord Borjong gave a brief nod to one of his guards.
"Move all the captives to my private estate. Lock them up until auction day. I don't want any disturbances."
The order was carried out immediately. Dozens of guards moved swiftly, herding the prisoners into large horse-drawn carriages. Barugu walked beside Borjong, playing the role of his trusted aide.
Meanwhile, Pragyan—quietly observing from a corner of the street with a few Migase warriors—quickly realized the odds were not in their favor. He exhaled heavily and whispered to his men,
"We can't fight here. Too many guards. We follow Rogg's plan. Pull back."
The Migase fighters began to retreat carefully, avoiding direct confrontation. They slipped through the crowd while keeping their eyes on the captives being transported.
Elsewhere, Rogg had already changed into local attire—a coarse tunic and dark cloth belt—stolen from a merchant fast asleep in a narrow alley. With it, he blended into the crowd without drawing attention.
He followed Borjong's convoy from a distance. The captives walked in line, their hands bound by rough ropes. Some stumbled, but they kept moving. Fortunately, they had enough strength left after being fed by Rogg the day before.
Up close, the city of Blacksand looked filthier than ever. Muddy streets, piles of waste, and beggars lined the alleys. Borjong's carriages were forced to slow down due to the dense crowd. His guards shouted and shoved to clear the way.
Rogg seized the moment. He slipped into the narrow alleys, keeping his distance while tracking where the captives were being taken.
After nearly half an hour of maneuvering, the convoy arrived at a large building with faded red paint. Iron gates opened, and the prisoners were led inside one by one. Once they were all in, the gates were locked and heavily guarded by more than two dozen armed men.
Rogg held his breath, staying hidden. One wrong move and everything would fall apart.
Before he could act, a trumpet blast echoed from the southern side of the building. Several guards immediately rushed toward the sound.
"Attack!" shouted a Migase warrior.
Pragyan's squad launched a surprise attack on the outer guards. Within minutes, several of Borjong's men were down. Panic spread among the bystanders, creating chaos in the street. Some guards abandoned their posts to chase the Migase fighters, who had now blended into the crowd.
Inside the building, Borjong and Barugu lounged on a long, ornately carved bench. They dined on roasted meat and local wine. The rhythmic music of stringed instruments and the swaying of young dancers filled the room.
Borjong chuckled.
"Days like this are ours, Barugu. No one can disrupt our business."
Barugu leaned in slightly.
"But Lord, I have a bad feeling. One of the forest tribe captives—he had a look in his eyes. He's not like the others. I suggest we post more guards in the lower quarters."
Borjong sneered.
"Barugu, you worry too much. Here, I am king. No one touches me in Blacksand. Don't lose sleep over a single prisoner."
Outside, Rogg continued observing. Night had fallen, but the streets remained noisy. Theft and petty brawls were common. He knew this was the best time to slip in.
He studied the main gate. All guests had to show an ID badge to two massive guards before being allowed entry. Rogg waited patiently until a wealthy merchant arrived with his bodyguard.
Seizing the opportunity, Rogg intercepted them in a narrow alley behind the building.
"You're not needed here," he told the merchant's guard.
The guard turned, hesitating.
"Leave before I change my mind," Rogg said, his tone sharp.
His firm stance and imposing presence intimidated the guard, who handed over his ID badge to his master and left without protest.
Rogg donned the guard's uniform—a long dark cloak and the signature headband of personal escorts. The merchant glanced at him.
"My name is Magnoli," he said flatly. "I hope you know how to protect important men."
Rogg simply nodded, not understanding the man's language.
"Good. Don't speak much—just clear the way if anything happens."
Pretending to be Magnoli's guard, Rogg followed the merchant to the main gate. After presenting the ID, they were allowed in. Inside, the party was already in full swing, laughter and music echoing against the stone walls.
Rogg was now inside the heart of the enemy's den.
In the main hall, an opulent scene unfolded before him. Crystal chandeliers hung high above, casting brilliant light on white stone walls. Long polished wooden tables lined the hall, facing a grand stage. Wealthy merchants, regional nobles, and local lords feasted and drank as they waited for the auction to begin.
Rogg stood among the other guards lining the hall, silent and alert. He remained inconspicuous, watching every movement in the room. The slaves to be auctioned were displayed on the stage—thin bodies, tired faces, and wounds on their limbs spoke of cruel treatment during transport.
At one side of the room, Lord Borjong greeted important guests, laughing heartily as he clapped Tuan Kohali on the back like an old friend. Beside them, Barugu stood calmly, occasionally whispering polite explanations. Rogg watched closely. Borjong clearly acted as the link between local rulers and foreign traders.
Soft music began to flow from one corner of the hall. A red curtain beside the stage was drawn open. Girls from the Balevad tribe stepped out wearing thin garments, dancing seductively. Laughter and cheers erupted from the crowd as the wine continued to pour freely into their glasses.
Yet Rogg wasn't distracted by any of it. His eyes kept moving, scanning the hall. He waited for the right moment, any opening—no matter how small—to slip into the system controlled by Borjong. And that was when he saw something different.
A guard stood alone, not far from the eastern pillar. His build was smaller than the others. But his face—there was something familiar about it. Alert eyes, a square jaw, and a stubborn expression.
Migase, Rogg thought.
With careful steps, Rogg approached the guard. When he was close enough, he spoke in a near-whisper, using the language of the Migase.
"Brother, are you from the Migase Valley?"
The man turned sharply. His eyes widened as he studied Rogg from head to toe with a guarded expression.
"Who are you? How do you know this language?" he asked quietly but firmly.
"My name is Rogg," Rogg answered in a low voice. "I've come to free our people. But I need information. Tell me what you know about this place… and about Borjong."
The guard's face tightened. He stared at Rogg for a long moment before finally replying, his voice tense.
"I'm Nakhsa. I was a farmer back in Migase. They took me as a tribute when I was young—sold me to a merchant who needed more hands for guarding. But I never chose to be their guard."
Rogg gave a slight nod. "I won't ask you to risk your life. But if you want to help our people, now is the time."
Nakhsa exhaled slowly. "I've been watching this place for a long time. Borjong is just a mask. There's a much bigger network behind him—northern merchants, Larfex nobles, even imperial leaders. They come here not just for slaves, but for power."
"What about the other Migase?" Rogg asked quickly.
Nakhsa sighed. "In the last eight months, no one's come from Migase. Before, each season, there'd be five to ten. But now... nothing. It's like they've been wiped out."
Rogg clenched his fists. "So it's true. They're draining our valley of its youth. That's why only children and the old remain…"
Nakhsa studied him closely. "You're from the valley, aren't you?"
"I'm Rogg. Leader of Migase."
Nakhsa's eyes widened. His face changed. His voice trembled. "Leader… are you one of the elders?"
"And I've come to take back what was stolen from us," Rogg said firmly. "Listen carefully. If you find anyone from Migase here, whisper to them. Tell them to get ready. After tonight—we're going home."
"Who's helping you?" Nakhsa asked softly.
"Pragyan. He's outside. Find him. Gather our people. Get them out before midnight. I'll deal with Borjong."
Nakhsa nodded slowly. The look in his eyes changed—from fear to courage.
"Alright, Rogg. If you truly come for Migase, I'm with you."
"Thank you," Rogg said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder before returning to his post.
Now, the game had changed. Rogg was no longer alone. He had an ally on the inside.
And tonight's slave auction… was about to become a night the enemy would never forget.