The World Is Mine For The Taking

Chapter 958 - 146 - Slave Market Infiltration (4)

A mermaid princess, huh? I’ve never actually seen one, only glimpsed mermaid scales once in the black market. It was a dull iridescence tucked into crates, traded like spices. Still, from what I know, the mermaid kingdom and the elven kingdom probably share the same bone-deep resentment toward humans: they hate what humans did to them—binding them in chains, selling them off, committing unspeakable things. I don’t imagine either kingdom would welcome someone like me without immediately growing hostile.

Even if it were me personally, I’d expect suspicion—exactly like with the elves. Which meant the same approach would be necessary. Get inside through someone they trust. With the elves it had been Artemis. Now if Han’s rumor held any truth and someone important from the mermaid court had been taken, that might be the opening I needed. Find a connection they trust, use it as cover, and hope that trust buys us a way in without blood spilling at the doorstep.

"I want you to lead the way on that," I told her, steady voice.

"All right." Artemis smiled, soft but certain. "I’ll help you, but I’m not doing any physical or magical fighting. You handle that."

So she would guide and help, but not throw punches or cast spells. Fine. If she could hold her own enough to not be a liability, I didn’t need her swinging at anyone.

With that settled, she was coming with us to the slave market for the infiltration.

***

The night we’d picked for the infiltration had settled thick and low over the capital. People still filled the streets in other districts, but here—this slice of the city—felt hollow, quiet in the way that promised opportunity. The plan moved cleanly so far; that quiet worked in our favor.

We crouched on the market’s roof, breath shallow, bodies pressed into shadows. The wind up there was thin and smelled faintly of smoke and old rope, but below, the market’s lights bled into pools of jaundiced color. We were ready. The only thing left was to get down without announcing our presence.

From the roof I could see the guards. They were stolid, bored men leaning on spears and watch posts. They looked hired for intimidation rather than skill; they were the kind who carried authority but not mastery. I signaled the team. When we dropped, I threaded levitation into the descent, a quiet, floating fall that kept our boots from striking stone. I cast it on the others too, giving them the same silent glide.

We hit the ground like ghosts and moved. The first sentries went down quick—unconscious before they could shout. The slaves scattered in the sudden silence, eyes wide, mouths already forming the plea to run. We put a hand up and signaled them to stay quiet. Keep still. The shock on their faces flashed and then dulled—fear locked to the bones.

After we’d dragged the fallen guards off the main path and hidden them, we climbed down the market’s second level. There were more watchers here, heavier eyes and thicker armor. Still, none had seen us. We flowed through the shadows, keeping to the walls, the plan holding its shape.

To get to the third level—where I expected elves and higher-stakes scrutiny—we had to be surgical. Any alarm raised now would cascade upward with the third level’s guards would be on instant alert. We had backup plans if things went wrong, of course, but backups were messy and costly. Better to slip through unnoticed than to fight our way through a hornet’s nest. So we moved faster, quieter, folding and sliding like ink through fabric.

We neutralized more guards and hid them—carefully and thoroughly. We made sure their breathing would be slow and their memories wiped until Tuesday. No one fast enough to come after us. The work was nervous, efficient, and ugly in the way those ops always are.

As we moved, I noticed beast-people among the crowd—rabbitfolk with quick, nervous glances. One of them stood out. She have a figure with stark white hair and smooth pale skin, striking enough that I felt the old, unseemly pull in my chest. For half a breath I felt the greedy thought flit through me, an ugly, private wanting that I shoved back down. This wasn’t the time.

"Looks like someone’s got a taste," Han murmured behind me, keeping close. Her voice was a whip of amusement and warning. "You really have an appetite—no, insatiable. I’m afraid our frail bodies might not handle all of one man’s lust, Su. If I pass out, you take over for me."

I didn’t bother answering. Her jokes and asides were the kind you didn’t parse in the moment. We kept moving.

By the time we rose toward the third floor, the air itself changed. The architecture became grander—smooth tile underfoot, pillars rising like the ribs of a stately beast. The light here was stronger, casting hard shadows and clear outlines. Sounds carried more easily. From the far end came laughter and the clink of glass, cheers folding together with the tang of spilled alcohol and something fouler under it. It was the hot, unmistakable stench of sex.

The third level’s noise grew, the celebration at the far end bleeding into the corridor. The pillars threw the sound between them like a net with cheers, slurred songs, and the low, ugly moans that came from rooms where men practiced breaking others for profit. The air tasted of sweat and cheap wine.

Up close, it was worse—like rot hidden under perfume. The third level thrummed with a different life with men who thought the world owed them bodies and the right to break them, suppliers and buyers and those who trained slaves for what would come next. This was, from all reports, where the worst of the market’s supply chain took shape. Here they turned people into merchandise—pleasure, exploited and packaged.

"Looks like they’re at it in there," Han muttered, voice low and tight. "This level’s where scum get their thrills. Here they train slaves in sex—pleasuring them until they’re ready to be sold to brothels."

Her words landed like a knife. The place smelled of that promise—of bodies used and washed and used again. It was the kind of place that sharpened my resolve instead of dulling it.

"Leon," Artemis said softly—short, sharp.

"Right." I felt the weight of it settle. This was the point. No more half measures. "This time, we won’t hold back. Not against these scum."

The words were a promise. The ambush we’d rehearsed slid into motion—quiet, precise, and fueled by a hard little fire.