novelraw Chapter 47: Fieron
Chapter 47: Fieron
Fischer stared at Fieron’s departing figure for a long time. Suddenly, he grabbed Raphaëlle beside him. Raphaëlle thought he was reaching to hold her hand and instinctively extended hers—only to be coldly brushed off. She turned toward him, a little annoyed, only to see his face dead serious.
“Listen, Raphaëlle. We're leaving tonight. Stay here and watch over Larr and the others. I’m heading upstairs to pack.”
Raphaëlle blinked in surprise. She didn’t quite understand why Fischer was so eager to leave, but since he said it, he must have his reasons. So, she nodded in agreement.
Fischer had already sensed something deeply wrong about Fieron City. He had more than a few suspicions about Fieron’s actions—and was now almost certain that the man had his sights on the Dragonkin among them. The only reason they’d remained until now was to stock up on supplies for their journey. With those purchases complete, they could leave at any time.
Staying any longer would only endanger himself and the Dragonkin—something far too foolish to risk.
So, without hesitation, Fischer made his decision: they would escape tonight. The best-case scenario was that Fieron wouldn’t realize they were gone until they broke through the city gates. By then, even if he wanted to give chase, he’d be too late.
Earlier, while out in the outer city, Fischer had memorized the city’s layout. From their current location, they would head straight for the northern gate. Even if it meant some collateral damage, they had to get out.
Nodding firmly, Fischer picked up his cane and walked out of the room.
The dining room had fallen into tense silence. Mir, Cachil, and Fassil had all understood the gravity of the situation from Fischer’s words, so they huddled close around Raphaëlle. They even took away the toy from Larr’s hands to keep her from running off again.
Larr pouted, but under Raphaëlle’s stern gaze, she sulked back into her seat, quietly staring out at the moonlit sky. Outside, the moon hung hazily in the sky, its silvery light obscured by clouds that looked like overlapping scales, casting a murky shadow over the earth.
Larr stared blankly at the distant moon, imagining it as a giant pancake—slathered in fiery fruit syrup that Dragonkin loved—and then taking a huge bite out of it. That would be the tastiest thing ever!
She swallowed some saliva at the thought, but when she looked back at the moon again, she realized something was casting a shadow over it. Squinting outside, she suddenly saw a tall, expressionless Minotaur with horns standing in the yard. She froze for a moment—then immediately panicked and shouted toward Raphaëlle.
“Lady Raphaëlle, there’s... mmph! Let go of Larr!”
A massive arm crashed through the window with a shattering burst of glass, grabbing Larr tightly by the neck.
Wha... When...?
Why hadn’t she sensed any living presence?
Raphaëlle’s pupils shrank to slits as she stared at the towering figure outside. It was an adult male Minotaur—massive, around 1.9 meters tall, shirtless, his skin an odd ashen tone. His horns were completely gone, replaced by smooth saw-like scars. He looked blankly at the girl he held in his grasp.
“Let her go!”
Raphaëlle’s scales bristled and steam burst from her body. Instantly, every window around them shattered, and more expressionless male Minotaurs swarmed in through the openings.
“Don’t move, Raphaëlle.”
Just as she was about to strike, a gentle voice came from behind her. Raphaëlle turned, stunned—only to see that all her companions had already been subdued by other massive Minotaurs.
“Lady Raphaëlle...”
“Let me go!”
Outside, in the courtyard, a swarm of towering figures stood in formation. All of them had broken horns, standing emotionlessly as they stared into the dining room.
“Nana... Miss?”
Standing among the Minotaurs was the minotaur girl in a dress—Nana. She gave no response to Raphaëlle’s question. She didn’t have time to waste on conversation.
Perched on the shoulder of a bulky Minotaur, Nana snapped her fingers. The Minotaurs holding Mir and the others turned and sprinted toward the courtyard. They clearly didn’t want to fight Raphaëlle here. The swarm of hornless Minotaurs moved behind them, obstructing Raphaëlle’s line of sight and fleeing in a coordinated formation toward a distant direction.
Thanks to her night vision, Raphaëlle saw it: just ahead of the escaping group, a hidden underground gate had silently opened. Where it led—she didn’t know.
Was it a trap meant to lure her in?
Raphaëlle glanced upstairs, then looked toward the now-exposed underground entrance. After a brief moment of hesitation, she sprinted toward it.
Upstairs, Fischer had just finished packing when he heard the shattering of glass. He paused for a second, then sighed softly.
The worst had happened—Fieron had sensed his intentions. Evidently, the man had been watching him just as closely. With both sides so cautious, even a small move could break the balance.
Now that the situation had tipped, Fischer gave up on subtlety. He set down the luggage, grabbed his cane, and walked downstairs. He passed through the now-empty dining room without stopping.
Raphaëlle must have gone after Mir and the others. Fischer checked the connection through the Slave Mark and sensed they were heading underground. There had to be some kind of hidden facility below.
But Fischer didn’t chase after them.
Instead, he silently wished Raphaëlle luck.
Why?
Because when he stepped out into the courtyard, Fieron was already standing there—dressed in a fresh suit, hands behind his back, quietly watching the inner city and the peaceful scenes of Fieron City beyond.
The city was calm. From the high vantage of the lord’s estate, they could see the resting forms of the demi-humans below. The night was late. They were asleep, unaware. So far, nothing loud enough had reached the city to wake them.
“Good evening, Mr. Fischer.”
“Good evening.”
Fischer lit a cigarette, stepped up beside Fieron, and looked out over the serene inner city.
“It saddens me, Mr. Fischer, to see you leaving so late... So you’ve already figured out what I’ve been doing?”
Fischer nodded.
“You’re trafficking souls. You’re making huge profits off them. And you’ve set your sights on the Dragonkin among us. You’ve been conducting similar research for a long time. Even the souls of demi-humans from the wilds have all been harvested by you.”
“Ahh, such a clever mind. Of course I couldn’t keep it from you...”
Fieron’s tone was light, almost appreciative.
“Mr. Fischer, do you know how much energy is stored in a human soul? All the magic a person can use in a lifetime—it's drawn from their soul. If you compress it and release it like fuel, the energy it produces exceeds tons of coal...”
“It all started with Soul-Loss Syndrome. If deep despair can cause the soul to vibrate, then what about love? Turns out—it can. The stronger the love toward a target, the more intense the soul’s resonance, and the easier it becomes to extract...”
“But humans are wary creatures. Whether it's love or despair, it's hard to create at scale. Too costly. Not viable for mass production...”
Fischer quickly caught up with Fieron’s logic. His expression didn’t change, but he finished the thought.
“So, you started searching for easier targets—those for whom love or despair could be created more easily. A group with low thresholds. And eventually, you found your answer...”
“That’s right, Mr. Fischer—children!” Fieron clapped in praise, smiling as if genuinely impressed. “Only the innocent, only the pure can feel love without barriers, feel happiness, and express it naturally...”
Fischer didn’t speak. He looked out at the peaceful city, taking a deep drag from his cigarette.
“So you turn children... into products?”
“Products?” Fieron’s mask didn’t move, but Fischer saw his eye behind the gas mask twitch, clearly irritated at that choice of word. After a second or two, it steadied, and his voice returned to calm.
“Do you know, Mr. Fischer... My homeland, Ulen, used to be a peaceful place. Until a geological survey from Saint Nary found coal beneath our land. Greedy people came from all over, seeking profit. They wanted to seize our ancestral homes.”
“When we resisted, they burned our village to the ground. My family, my friends—they all burned to death. I only survived by hiding under my brother’s corpse. When I stood up the next day, his body was stuck to mine. I couldn’t wash it off.”
His bare, lidless eyes locked on Fischer. He tapped the gas mask on his face.
“If we had a choice—myself, my brothers, every child of Ulen—we would’ve gladly given our lives to buy back the coal they craved. Then, maybe no one would’ve had to die...”
“Look at the demi-humans in the inner city. Their homelands destroyed. Their tribes nearly extinct. Why? Because humans want their resources. They’re hunted to extinction...”
“If not for me, they’d all be dead in some quiet field, never even knowing why. I gave them safety, comfort. But does that come free? Can you save people with good intentions alone?”
“Ask any demi-human in this city—ask if they’d trade a few children for lasting peace and comfort. What do you think they’d say?”
“The soul of a Dragonkin produces seven to eight times the energy of a human soul. Sacrificing one Dragonkin could save seven other children. Isn’t that worth it? So, I’m sorry—but I must take their souls.”
“But you, Mr. Fischer—I’m willing to let you and the Crimson Dragon girl go. You’re one of Nary’s few scholars. I wouldn’t want such a brilliant mind lost to this continent...”
By the time Fieron finished, Fischer had smoked his cigarette down to the butt. He crushed it underfoot. His face remained calm, untouched by the lengthy speech.
His voice dropped.
“I only want to know—where are the children?”
Fieron paused—then as if expecting that question, his voice curled into a pleased smile.
“All thanks to Mr. Fischer...”
Suddenly, his suit burst apart. On his back, a steam-powered device emerged—larger than the usual Steam Power Ring. The backpack-like machine had over a dozen metal cylinders embedded deep into it, as if fused to his body.
Steam gushed from the pack, trailing through wires connected to his prosthetic right arm and a glove-like mechanism on his left.
The device trembled. A ghostly wail sounded.
Streams of pure blue energy flowed through the wires into his prosthetic arm. In that instant, his body became wreathed in roaring steam. The pack opened, metal armor unfolding to shield the energy pathways.
Those lidless eyes behind the gas mask locked on Fischer.
And word by word, he spoke:
“They’re with me now.”