The night air in Silverhaven was quiet.
Too quiet.
Beneath the waning moonlight, a lone figure walked with purpose. His dark cloak merged with the shadows, his footsteps silent against cobbled stone. The faint clink of hidden armor betrayed a presence most would never notice.
Red didn't glance back. He didn't need to.
He knew the path to the slave trader's den by memory now, he had stared at it too long earlier that day. Every merchant's crooked smile, every chained soul, every coin exchanged like they were dealing in livestock. It sickened him.
He had waited until the streets emptied. The moon had risen high. Now, the predator walked unopposed.
A pair of mercenaries stood outside the front gate of the slave trader's office. They smoked pipes, laughing low.
Mercenary 1: "Told ya she wouldn't sell. Scrawny thing. No tits. Who'd want that?"
Mercenary 2: "Boss should've let me train her first. Toughen her up. Make her cry a little—"
A blade flashed.
Blood sprayed the wooden wall.
Neither mercenary finished their sentence. One crumpled against the gate, throat slit clean. The other staggered, hand clutching a mortal wound beneath his ribs, gasping as the world slipped away.
Red sheathed his dagger without a word.
The door was unlocked. Arrogance did that. They never expected justice in the dark.
He stepped inside.
The slave trading house was warmer than it had any right to be. A fireplace crackled in the back room, casting orange light over ledgers, whips, and manacles. Chains hung from beams. A set of cages sat empty, except one.
A terrified boy barely older than ten sat inside it, curled into himself, bruised and silent.
The slaver's accountant looked up from his scrolls.
Accountant: "We're closed, idiot. Come back tomorrow or—"
His eyes widened.
Too late.
Red's sword went through his mouth.
He pulled it free without a sound.
Three guards ran in from the hallway. One had a sword, the others clubs.
Red moved like smoke.
The first guard raised his weapon, Red severed the tendons in his arm. He screamed and dropped it. The second rushed in behind, Red spun low, cut the man's knees out from under him, then silenced him with a dagger to the heart. The third was smarter, backing up to raise an alarm.
Red threw his blade.
It embedded in the man's throat.
He slumped against the doorframe, gurgling.
Silence returned.
The boy in the cage stared at Red, too stunned to move.
Red: "Do you want to be free?"
The boy nodded slowly.
Red: "Then run. Out the back. Now."
The cage door was unlocked in a second. The boy didn't hesitate—he bolted, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor, disappearing into the alley.
Red continued deeper.
The office doors were at the end of the hall—thick oak, reinforced with iron. He didn't knock.
He kicked.
The doors burst open. Inside, the slaver lord, a fat man with slick hair and gold rings on every finger, jolted awake from his chair. Two armed mercenaries jumped to their feet.
Slaver: "Wh–what the hell?!"
Red: "You sold a girl today."
The slaver's face twisted in confusion. "What?"
Red: "Brown hair. Blue eyes. Sixteen. Name was Selena."
Recognition dawned in the man's eyes.
Then fear.
Slaver: "I–I didn't know! She's just inventory! I didn't—"
Red moved.
The first mercenary tried to block the strike. Red sidestepped, broke his stance, and slammed him into the wall with brutal precision. Bones cracked. The second came swinging wild—Red ducked, grabbed the man's arm, and snapped it backward. The sword clattered to the floor.
Red stepped past the groaning mercs toward the slaver.
The fat man was trying to run. He waddled to the far window, gasping, sweat pouring down his cheeks.
Slaver: "Don't kill me! I–I can pay you! I can give you girls! Gold! Favors!"
Red: "You won't give anyone anything again."
He raised his blade.
The slaver sobbed.
Slaver: "Please... gods, please, I didn't know she mattered—"
Red: "They all matter."
He swung.
The blade came down like a guillotine.
And the man stopped pleading.
He left no witnesses.
Red moved through the rest of the building with calm, cold resolve. Every room, every hall, every office, cleared. The guards tried to fight. Some begged. It didn't matter.
He had seen their ledgers.
Their auctions.
Their breeding pits.
The building smelled like blood and old sweat, rot masked by cheap incense. Red burned it all. The documents. The trophies. The cages. The chains.
He poured oil from the stores and lit the flame.
By the time he walked into the night again, the sky behind him glowed with fire.
No one would know what happened.
No one would find bodies.
Just ashes.
When he returned to the inn, the world was still asleep.
He slipped through the side door and up the stairs without a creak. The hallway was dim, but the flicker of a lantern from under his room's door told him someone had stayed up.
He opened it gently.
Selena was asleep, curled on the far bed, blanket pulled up to her chin. She looked cleaner now. Her hair was still damp from her earlier bath, combed and brushed into smooth strands. The new tunic hung loosely on her small frame, and the fresh bandages around her wrists were still neatly wrapped.
On the nearby table, the lantern flickered low.
She must've left it on, waiting for him.
Red exhaled and sat down on the other bed. He pulled off his armor piece by piece, methodically. Chestplate, vambraces, greaves. Silent movements from habit, not fear.
He looked toward her once.
She stirred, half-awake.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
Selena: "...You came back."
Red: "Yeah."
Her lips curved slightly.
Selena: "Good."
She turned her face toward the wall and fell asleep again.
Red leaned back, arms behind his head, and closed his eyes.
Tonight, justice had been done.
But the city remained sick.
And he had only just begun.