The night air in Gravestone was thick, carrying the stench of rust, unwashed bodies, and dried blood.

Perched on the high branch of a dead oak tree overlooking the valley, three figures looked down at the sprawling complex below.

The Slaver Fortress.

It wasn't a castle in the traditional sense. It was a converted prison mine, surrounded by thirty-foot walls made of black iron and reinforced stone.

Watchtowers armed with mana cannons dotted the perimeter, and the hum of a detection barrier buzzed faintly in the air.

"There…" Lyra's voice trembled, not with fear, but with a cold, simmering rage.

She lowered her mana-enhanced binoculars, her knuckles white as she gripped her bow.

"In the central yard. That's… that's my vice-captain. And the others."

Damien followed her gaze.

In the centre of the fortress, under the harsh light of magical floodlamps, a gruesome scene was playing out. About fifty slaves, Elves, Beast-men, and Humans, were chained together in a line.

They were naked, stripped of their dignity, covered in filth.

A fat, shirtless man with a branding iron was walking down the line. He wasn't just branding them; he was laughing.

He pressed the glowing red iron into the shoulder of a screaming beast-man, enjoying the smell of burning fur and flesh.

"That pig…" Isabelle growled, a low, guttural sound that sounded more demon than human. "He's enjoying it."

"That's the Slaver King's lieutenant, 'Butcher' Kael," Lyra spat the name like a curse. "He breaks the slaves before they are sold. Look… to the left."

Damien looked. In a separate, smaller iron cage, a lone figure was chained up.

It was a girl with lion-like ears and a tail, her body covered in scars, but her eyes were fierce, unyielding. She was biting at the iron bars, growling at anyone who came close.

Leona, Damien recognized her instantly. The future 'Lioness of the Vanguard'. In the novel, she was sold to a noble who forced her to fight in the coliseum. She killed a thousand gladiators before dying of exhaustion. She's here too!

"They are preparing a shipment," Damien observed coldly. "See the carriages lining up? They plan to move them out at dawn. We arrived just in time."

"Young Master," Isabelle turned to him, her eyes flickering with a dangerous crimson light.

The residual will in her blood was reacting to the malice in the air, urging her to destroy. "Orders?" she asked

"We can't sneak in," Lyra muttered, trying to be tactical despite her rage.

"That barrier detects mana signatures. If we cross it, the cannons will fire. We need to disable the generator first, then—"

"No," Damien interrupted.

He stood up on the branch, the wind catching his cloak.

"We aren't sneaking, Lyra. We aren't thieves trying to steal bread."

He looked down at the fortress, at the brutality, at the pain. He felt the Midnight Tome humming in his veins, hungry for darkness.

He felt the Golden Dragon Aura burning in his chest, demanding dominance.

"We are the Black Thread. We don't skirt around the edges of destiny. We cut right through it."

He turned to his companions.

"Isabelle. Do you see that main gate? The one made of black iron?"

"Yes, Young Master."

"I want you to rip it off its hinges. Make as much noise as possible."

Isabelle grinned, a smile that revealed slightly sharpened canines. "With pleasure."

"Lyra," Damien looked at the elf.

"Those watchtowers. The moment the gate falls, they will try to fire the cannons. Don't let them."

Lyra drew her bow, an arrow of pure wind forming instantly. "They won't even get a spark off."

"Good."

Damien cracked his neck. He checked his status one last time.

[DP: 0.

Mana: Full.

Aura: Full.

Mercy: None.]

"Let's go say hello."

........

[The Slaver Fortress - Main Gate]

Two guards stood at the entrance, bored, leaning on their spears.

"Did you hear the Butcher screaming earlier?" one laughed. " he really loves his work too much. It gives me the creeps."

"Hey, as long as the gold keeps flowing, who cares? Tomorrow's shipment is worth—"

THUMP.

The guard stopped. He looked at his water flask sitting on a crate. The water was vibrating.

THUMP.

The ground shook rhythmically. Like footsteps. Heavy, impossible footsteps.

"What is that?" The guard squinted into the darkness of the road leading up to the gate. "A carriage?"

No.

Out of the gloom, a single figure walked toward them. A maid.

She wore a crisp black and white uniform that looked out of place in the mud. She had short orange hair and bright green eyes. She was walking calmly, but every step she took seemed to crack the earth beneath her boots.

"Hey! You!" The guard leveled his spear. "This is restricted territory! Get lost, little girl, before we—"

Isabelle didn't stop. She raised her right hand, palm open.

"Gravity… Implode."

She clenched her fist.

CRUNCH.

The two guards didn't even have time to scream.

Their armor, their spears, and their bodies were instantly crushed into a ball of scrap metal and gore, compressed by twenty times the force of gravity.

Isabelle stepped over the remains without looking down. She stood before the massive, thirty-foot iron gates.

"Young Master said… open."

She placed both hands on the cold metal. Her eyes flashed red.

ROAR!

Mana exploded from her. The gravity vector shifted. Instead of pulling down, she pulled out.

SCREEEEEEECH!

The sound was deafening. The massive hinges, designed to withstand siege engines, groaned in protest. The iron warped. Rivets popped like bullets.

With a final, thunderous BOOM, the entire gate was ripped from the stone wall and flung backwards into the courtyard, crushing three unlucky slavers who had run to investigate the noise.

The alarm bells began to ring wildly.

"INTRUDERS! GATE BREACH!"

High above, in the watchtowers, the snipers scrambled to their mana cannons.

"Target the girl! Fire at will!" the commander screamed.

The cannons glowed blue, charging up.

Twang. Twang. Twang. Twang.

Four sounds, almost simultaneous.

In the four cardinal watchtowers, four cannon operators suddenly jerked backwards, arrows of wind protruding from their skulls. The mana cannons powered down, their operators dead before they could pull the trigger.

On the ridge, Lyra stood like a statue, already drawing her next volley.

In the courtyard, chaos erupted.

Dozens of slavers, awakened by the crash, poured out of the barracks.

They were a mix of mercenaries, rogue mages, and thugs. At their lead was Butcher Kael, his branding iron still glowing red in his hand.

"Who dares!" Kael roared, his belly jiggling. "Kill that bitch! Bring me her head!"

Fifty men charged at the lone maid standing in the ruins of the gate.

Isabelle didn't move. She just smiled, a smile filled with the joy of finally being useful. She prepared to unleash a wave of fire.

But she didn't have to.

"Step back, Isabelle."

A calm voice spoke from behind her.

A blur of gold and black shot past her shoulder.

Damien launched himself into the centre of the charging horde. He didn't use a weapon. He didn't need one.

He landed in the middle of the mercenaries, the impact creating a crater.

"Dual-Art: Golden Shadow Domain."

VOOOM.

A wave of pressure expanded from his body.

To his left, the shadows lengthened, turning into sharp spikes that impaled the legs of the attackers. To his right, a blinding golden aura scorched the air, melting swords and armour instantly.

Damien stood up slowly. His left eye was a void of darkness. His right eye was a slit of dragon gold.

He looked at Butcher Kael, who had frozen in terror.

"I am Damien Voss," he announced, his voice amplified by aura so it echoed through the entire fortress.

"And I am here to end your lives."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.