"You would've enjoyed what we did to you if you'd been awake," the tall man spits at mira, his voice thick with mockery. "But you chose to sleep through it all, you dumb oslmere woman"
THWACK!
And with a resounding slap mira groaned.
Pain exploded across her face, as blood flooded down into her mouth, the cloth at her lips soaked dark. Stars pulsing at the edges of her vision.
"Oooofff" The short man chuckled while watching mira get struck, making a nasty and satisfied sound. Then He turned and walkes away. "Save some for me," he says as he backed toward the door. "And don't kill her, those bastards won't pay for a corpse."
The tall man bent down ignoring his short buddy, and with his rough hand, he grabs Mira's jaw and pulling her face close to his. One of her eyes was swollen shut, with blood streaking down her cheek.
"Olsmere women…" he muttered, his tone low and mocking. "I remember you."
His eyes scanned her face with sick satisfaction.
"Back in Eryndor's reign, your town was untouchable. Guarded day and night. No one could lay a finger on you women." He shoved her head back, running his fingers over her exposed thigh, as his grin widens.
"Do you know how much an Olsmere girl would sell for in the black markets?"
Mira shook her head violently as he ran his fingers deep into her torn gown, muffled sobs breaking beneath the gag on her mouth. Tears pouring from her eyes, her fists clenching both in disgust and pain.
The man only laughed harder, his teeth glinting in the dim light.
He kicked her once—hard—right in the stomach, as Mira doubled over, gasping in pain. She clutches her ribs and laid weak on the floor, tears pouring from her eyes.
The man straightened, spat on the ground, and dusted his hands like he was finishing a chore. "That other girl was wetter than you," he sneered, his voice flat and cruel. "You better make us a fortune, or I'll kill you myself."
The tall man turned and left the room without another look. Shutting the door behind him.
Location: Eastern Asterra
Time: Noon
The sun rose faintly over a small city in the east of Asterra. The streets below stirred with life: merchants calling out prices, tourists pausing to admire the brasswork architecture, pigeons scattering in sudden bursts as children chased them through the city's square.
Keith moved quietly through the crowd, his hood drawn low across his face. His boots echoed against the stone, each step carrying him toward a tall structure that loomed at the city's square's edge.
Unlike the ruined towns he had come from, the building he marched towards— pulsed with modern elegance, rotating fans humming overhead, and wide windows glowing with the steady burn of lumin-powered lamps.
Slow and steady keith marched into the building.
A woman sat at the reception desk, clad in a fitted leather dress embroidered with silver threads. Her posture was stiff, but her smile rehearsed and professional. Keith lowered his hood slightly as he approached.
"It's Keith," he said. "I'd like to see Lord Jerron."
"Right away, sire," she replied with a bow, rising and guiding him deeper inside the building, and towards a hall.
BANG! BANG!
The hall opens into a wide chamber where gunshots crack. At the far end, Lord Jerron stood firing into a line of paper targets, ear muffles strapped tight over his ears.
BANG!
His rifle explodes once more before snapping it open with precision, then sliding a fresh round of bullets into place with ease.
Lord Jerron turns towards the opened door. His weathered face broke into a half-smile.
"Lord Keith. What a shocking surprise."
"Lord Jerron." Keith's voice echoed within the hall as both of them shake hands. The receptionist bowed lightly and withdrew, leaving the two men alone.
"My apologies for arriving unannounced," Keith said, pulling back his hood. His face showed lines of exhaustion, and his voice trembled with the weight of weeks without rest. "But I had no choice. I came to ask for your help."
Jerron slung the rifle across his back and studied him in silence for a moment.
"Unannounced visit, hood over your face, worry etched across your eyes…" His brow furrowed. "Tell me this isn't about your wife. Did something happen ?"
Keith shook his head. "No. She's okay, but my town olsmere was attacked, and someone dear to my wife has been abducted. You were the only one I could think of, because of your ties to the underground blackmarkets. I need information, Jerron. And I know you can find it."
Jerron exhaled slowly, with a softening gaze. "Abduction?" He says while scratches his chin.
"If I recall, Olsmere has been left exposed since eryndors attack on Asterra. First the raid, and now this… Did the abductors send any demands?"
"None," Keith replied sternly. "But there were earlier attempts. And this time, they succeeded."
Jerron frowned, pacing a short distance as he basked in his thoughts. "I do business with the underground—trading weapons, minerals, crowns. But abductions…" He shook his head. "That's not my network, Still, I know who to ask. If you're willing, I can take you down there myself, but… there will be money involved"
"How much?"
"5000 crowns for the information," Jerron said firmly. "Another 5000 if we need to hire help once we have a lead."
"Done." Keith said as he extends his hand for a handshake.
Their palms clasped in a firm shake. Jerron held Keith's gaze for a long moment before speaking again, his voice quieter now.
"One more thing. It's been years since either of us stood on a battlefield. We've traded rifles for ledgers, swords for speeches. Are you sure you're fit for this?"
Keith's eyes hardened. "I never thought I'd take up a weapon again. I thought we left that life behind, Jerron. But when those we love are taken… when the sovereign refuses to protect the helpless… what choice do we have? If justice won't come from above, then I'll drag it out of the shadows myself."
Silence lingered between them, both heavy with old memories. Finally, Jerron gave a single nod.
"You're right. We were soldiers before we were nobles. And soldiers don't stand idle while their people suffer." His voice eager and coordinated.
"We leave now. Gear-wagons will take us to the underground."
Keith drew a long breath and nodded, his hand brushing the rifle at his back.
"I'm ready."
Moments later, Keith and Jerron guided their gear-wagon through the descending tunnels that opened into Asterra's infamous underground and blackmarkets.
The black markets spread out before them like a hidden city— rusted iron and riveted pipes curling across buildings, steam hissing from vents installed in buildings.
Barrels of distilled liquor, and cages where rare animals snarled, stacked up one after another as people stood around negotiating and talking business.
Music echoed from gramophones while the chatter of deals and dice games rose filled certain areas.
Keith parked the wagon by the corner of the streets, as he followed Jerron deeper inside.
They moved past a ramshackle building, as It smelled of oil and rust, the kind of place where anything broken could be mended—and anything forbidden could be sold.
Nearby, a group of men lounged at a table, playing a board game scratched into the wood. Glass bottles clinked at their elbows, smoke curled from their cigars, and the crackling speaker in the corner sputtered out a scratchy tune. Their arms and necks were marked with crude tattoos.
Their eyes followed Keith and Jerron like wolves trailing a prey,
"This place still exists?" Keith muttered under his hood, his voice low as they threaded between stalls and watchers. "Even under Lord Eryndor's reign?"
"It does," Jerron answered quietly, not slowing his pace. "Lord Eryndor had compassion for these people, even with all the blood and crime here. He let them operate because it was home to so many—exiles, the banished, the broken. I heard he planned to bring them liberation before his death."
Keith's eyes moved to the rusted pipes above, as his jaw tightens. He felt the weight of curious stares pressing in from all sides as they climbed a narrow set of iron steps into a shadowed alleyway. The higher they went, the quieter the air became, as if they were walking deeper into trustless territory.
Then they marched into a massive old building, crowded with degenerates leaning on railings and stairposts, who were trading drugd. The air smelled of sweat and old alcohol. Suspicious eyes tracked keith and jerron, as the degenerate whispered among themselves while starring at keith and jerron.