The richly dressed slave-shop merchant stepped forward at last.

His silk robes trembled faintly as he moved, not from wind, but from the violent shaking of his limbs. Rings clinked against one another as his hands folded together, and sweat rolled down his temples despite the cooling air that still lingered from Diala's earlier punishment.

"I… I have an answer," he said.

Kiaria did not look at him immediately. His gaze remained on Mimi, as though measuring the weight of her wish rather than the words forming in the merchant's mouth.

"Speak," Kiaria replied at last, his tone calm and distant.

The merchant bowed deeply, nearly folding in half.

"Saving," he said quickly, "means removing pain. It means taking away suffering. A savior is the one who does that. So… saving is the act. A savior is the one who performs it."

A faint ripple passed through the crowd.

Some of the poorer merchants nodded unconsciously. Several slaves clutched their chains tighter, their eyes bright with fragile hope. The answer felt simple. Safe. Understandable.

Mimi's fingers curled slightly into her palm.

Kiaria's expression did not change.

"That is the first layer," he said."And it is shallow."

The merchant stiffened.

"Saving is not merely the removal of pain," Kiaria continued evenly. "If I erase your hunger today, but tomorrow you starve again, have I saved you? If I break your chains now, but another man binds you tomorrow, have I saved you? Or have I merely delayed your suffering by the span of a breath?"

The market fell into a deeper silence.

Mimi's chest tightened. The hope that had risen in her faltered, as if struck by something unseen.

Kiaria shifted his gaze.

"You," he said, pointing toward a thin merchant with ink-stained fingers and calculating eyes."Second answer."

The thin merchant flinched but stepped forward.

"A savior is not someone who removes pain," he said carefully. "A savior is someone who removes the cause of pain. If the cause is destroyed, then suffering cannot return."

A murmur spread through the market.

"This one sounds smarter…""This one is dangerous…""This one might satisfy him…"

Kiaria studied the man for a long moment.

"You are closer," he said."But still wrong."

The man's knees weakened.

"If you remove a tyrant," Kiaria continued, "another rises. If you destroy a system, a new one forms. If you slaughter demons, humans will take their place. The cause you see is never the real cause. It is only the mask worn by something deeper."

He lifted his hand slightly.

"Fear.""Desire.""Weakness.""Greed.""Obedience.""Habit."

Each word landed with quiet, crushing weight.

"These are the real causes. These cannot be killed. These cannot be exiled. These cannot be shattered with divine force."

The thin merchant's face drained of all color.

"A savior who only destroys enemies," Kiaria said calmly, "creates nothing but vacancies for new monsters."

He turned.

"Third answer," he said."And it will be your last chance."

An old, vicious-looking merchant stepped forward before anyone else could move. His eyes were sharp despite his age, his mouth curved into a thin, knowing smile. He leaned lightly on the shoulder of one of his slave women as if borrowing her balance.

"Saving is an interruption," he said slowly. "A savior is a disturbance."

The market went completely still.

"When someone is saved," the old merchant continued, "their suffering stops. But their thinking does not change. Their obedience does not vanish. Their fear does not disappear. They remain the same people who were enslaved yesterday."

He turned his gaze toward Mimi.

"If you free her today, she will thank you. She will worship you. She will depend on you. And the moment you leave, she will search for the next master who feels safest."

Mimi's breath hitched.

"That is not salvation," the old merchant said quietly. "That is transfer of ownership."

A tremor ran through the crowd.

"A savior," he continued, "is not someone who carries people out of hell. A savior is someone who makes hell impossible to exist again – even after the savior is gone."

Silence expanded outward like a spreading shadow.

Kiaria regarded him carefully.

"You are saying," Kiaria said softly, "that salvation is structural."

The old merchant bowed his head.

"Yes, Lord God."

Kiaria closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Then he smiled.

"You understand better than any of them," he said."But still imperfect."

The old merchant's smile faded.

"You speak of transfer of ownership correctly," Kiaria continued. "That part is true. I am half satisfied."

His gaze shifted back to Mimi.

"But the rest fails."

"If a person solves your problem for you, and teaches you how to face it again later, does that make him a savior? And if the same problem returns in a different form, does your savior return as well?"

The old merchant did not answer.

"You see now why your wish is dangerous," Kiaria said quietly to Mimi.

She lowered her eyes.

"You did not ask for freedom.""You did not ask for justice.""You did not ask for power."

His voice deepened.

"You asked for a savior.""A savior you do not even understand."

A heavy stillness settled over the market.

Kiaria turned back toward the merchants.

"All three answers are denied," he said.

The words fell like a sentence carved into fate.

Mimi's hands trembled at her sides.

She did not feel saved.She did not feel hopeful.She did not even feel disappointed.

She felt… empty.

Kiaria turned away from the merchants.

His gaze lifted slowly, passing over the market, the cages, the chains, the bowed heads, and the trembling bodies scattered across the stone like remnants of a shattered order.

"Since none of you have given a satisfactory explanation," Kiaria said evenly, "then hear my ruling."

Every breath in the market halted.

"All merchants," he continued, his tone carrying across the entire fortress without force or effort, "your belongings are freed."

The words did not register at first. Then realization struck like a delayed blow.

"Whatever you possess," Kiaria went on, "whether it has life or not, no longer belongs to you."

Faces drained of color. Knees weakened. One man staggered backward as though the ground itself had betrayed him.

"Every slave is to be untied," Kiaria said. "They are to return to their families. To their tribes. To whatever place they still call home."

Chains rattled softly, as if the metal itself had understood the command.

"The scattered tribes will rejoin. The fractured will reunite. The separated will walk together again."

His gaze sharpened.

"And whoever defies my word will be punished by my wrath."

There was no threat in his voice. No embellishment. No emotion. Only law.

The silence that followed was not relief. It was collision.

Merchants felt something tear loose inside their chests–power, authority, dominance, identity. Some clutched their ledgers as though holding onto corpses. One collapsed to his knees, whispering broken denials. Another vomited onto the stone, his face gray with shock.

Their world had not been destroyed.

It had been invalidated.

At the same time, something else unfolded.

A half-beast woman stared at her freed wrists as though they belonged to someone else. A chained boy took one step forward, then another, then collapsed laughing and sobbing at once. Two old men embraced and sank slowly to the ground, shaking as if their bodies no longer knew how to stand without pain.

Hope did not rise like fire.

It rose like pain being unknotted.

But Mimi did not move.

She did not cry. She did not smile. She did not fall.

She stood perfectly still, as though the joy around her were passing through invisible glass. Her chest felt heavy–not with gratitude, not with relief, but with consequence.

She felt it now.

The invisible weight of everything she had just set into motion.

Kiaria turned toward her.

"Mimi," he said.

She flinched at the sound of her name.

"You are kind," Kiaria continued. "And today, what you did showed courage. You spoke when you were afraid. You wished when you were powerless."

Her eyes trembled, fixed on the ground.

"Even if you are weak," he said, his voice lowering, "if you possess strong will and clear wisdom, you can save yourself. And perhaps those you cannot ignore."

A faint tremor ran through her body.

"The change you created today will bring you joy," Kiaria said quietly. "But it will not last. It will end in pain, in resentment, in blame."

His words did not strike her like thunder.

They settled into her bones.

"People will curse you for what you broke. They will hate you for what you took from them. They will beg you to fix what you never truly controlled."

Her hands clenched.

"Are you strong enough to bear it?" Kiaria asked.

The market had gone silent again–not from fear, but from listening.

Mimi's lips parted. No sound came out.

Diala moved her mount forward.

"Brother," she said gently, her voice cutting through the heaviness without breaking it. "Let her enjoy the present. Don't poison this moment with the future."

She looked down at Mimi, her gaze warm.

"Don't think too much," Diala said softly. "Just follow your heart."

Mimi finally exhaled.

Not relief. Not happiness.

Just the release of a breath she had been holding for her entire life.

Kiaria stepped closer to Mimi.

She stiffened instinctively, her breath hitching, her shoulders tightening as though judgment were about to fall again. Instead, his hand rested lightly on her shoulder, neither heavy nor dismissive–just present.

A monochrome ripple spread outward from the point of contact.

The storm inside her mind stilled. The noise of fear, guilt, and uncertainty thinned into silence. Her vision cleared, not with brightness, but with calm. For the first time since she had spoken her wish aloud, she could breathe without pain in her chest.

"T-thank you, Lord," Mimi whispered.

She bowed deeply, her voice steady now, no longer shaking with panic.

"You may stay here," Kiaria said evenly. "But there will be no more merchandise. No more ownership of people."

His gaze lifted, passing over the market–the cages, the chains, the bowed heads, and the trembling bodies scattered across the stone like remnants of a discarded world.

"If you need something, ask," he continued. "If you lack something, seek help. Help each other."

No one moved.

Not because they were afraid.

Because they were trying to understand what peace sounded like.

"Whoever taints my Paradise," Kiaria went on, "openly or in secret, only needs me to open my eyes for it to be exposed."

His voice did not harden.

It didn't have to.

"So behave well," he finished, "rather than defy."

A strange stillness fell over the market.

For the first time since the fortress had been built, the people were hearing a law that did not come with chains attached to it. Even though it was still a rule, it carried something unfamiliar.

Safety.

Confusion.

Possibility.

"What are you all standing around for?"

Mu Long's voice cut through the moment like a hammer striking iron.

"Do you need us to kick you away?" he roared. "Disperse. Go home. Now."

The spell broke.

People stumbled into motion, dragging freed companions with them, clutching family members, weeping, arguing, laughing, fleeing. The market dissolved into chaotic life.

Mu Long stepped forward and planted his massive dual-edged axe into the stone between the kneeling Skull man and his trembling lackey.

"You two stay," he growled.

His gaze was cold, merciless.

"Lord Master and Goddess Lord will remain here. Lead the way."

The Skull man swallowed hard.

"Y-yes… yes, of course…" he stammered.

The ritualist and his companion rose unsteadily and began walking ahead.

Skull gestured sharply at the ruling prisoners.

They scattered instantly and returned within seconds, clearing paths, opening concealed passages, dismantling obstructions without being told twice.

"This way," the ritualist said, bowing deeply.

He turned–not toward the inner fortress corridors–but toward a bare stone wall on the side of the market.

Princess Lainsa noticed the shift.

So did Ru.

So did Yi.

But none of them showed it on their faces.

Kiaria did not hesitate.

He walked straight toward the wall.

His body touched it.

The surface rippled.

And swallowed him.

From the outside, it had only been stone.

From the inside, it was a gateway.

They emerged into another floor entirely–one that had never been seen by the butterfly, never sensed by any formation mapping, never registered in any external spatial scan.

The chamber was vast, not crude, not functional, but extravagant.

Pillars carved with draconic motifs stretched toward a ceiling painted like a false sky. A grand dining table stood at the center, long enough to host an imperial council. A throne rested at one end, flanked by sigils of authority. Beyond it lay private chambers, a conference hall, and beds designed for royalty rather than survival.

It was not a hideout.

It was a palace.

Princess Lainsa took in the architecture in a single sweep of her eyes.

She was impressed.

She did not show it.

Diala dismounted from White Jade.

"You may go now," she said calmly to the ritualist and his companion.

They turned instantly.

"Stop," Kiaria said.

Both men froze.

"I can still sense what clings to your souls," he continued evenly. "And the residue of what you've done."

The ritualist's legs buckled slightly.

"Three days," Kiaria reminded them. "That is all the time you have."

They nodded violently.

"Yes, Lord… yes…"

They backed away, bowing repeatedly, and fled through the portal.

The chamber fell silent.

The false sky above them did not move.

The throne remained empty.

And Kiaria stood at its center–expression unreadable, authority absolute.

Then–

Kiaria lifted his hand, snapped his fingers once.

The air folded inward.

A distortion rippled through the chamber, subtle and silent, like heat bending light. The concealment of the Evil Spiders surged back into place, wrapping around the space in layered veils. Breath, sound, presence, and even intent were swallowed into nothingness.

From the outside, the palace no longer existed.

From the inside, the world felt sealed shut.

The atmosphere changed.

Not heavier.

Quieter.

"Now," Kiaria said calmly, lowering his hand, "we can get into our real business."

Mu Long relaxed his grip on his axe.

Ru exhaled.

Yi shifted her stance slightly.

Even Princess Lainsa let the tension in her shoulders drop by a fraction.

Diala did not move.

She turned her head slowly toward Kiaria, her eyes narrowed–not in suspicion, but in focused curiosity.

"Before that," she said evenly, "I want two answers."

Kiaria glanced at her.

"What is it, Shade?" he asked, his voice softening just enough to strip away the divine echo.

Diala met his gaze.

"First," she said, "how did you burn that merchant without moving a finger?"

Her eyes sharpened.

"And second… what is the real explanation behind that question you asked them?"

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