Anahita, clearly amused by what Lioran had done, burst out of his body again with a loud laugh. Floating in the air, she excitedly smacked his back a few times.
Laughing loudly, she said,
"Bravo… bravo! I didn't think you could be this cool. Well, looks like even idiots can be cool sometimes. Nice one… I liked that."
Lioran clenched his teeth tightly. The veins on his hand bulged as he formed a fist and, without hesitation, slammed it straight onto Anahita's head.
With a loud groan, Anahita spun through the air and was knocked backward.
A few moments later, the wagon started moving again.
Goba sat in the driver's seat, his shoulders slumped and his body still trembling with pain. Silent tears slipped down from the corners of his eyes.
"I was only trying to give you some information…"
At the same time, Anahita stood inside Lioran's inner world. Tears slowly rolled down her cheeks as she spoke in a choked voice.
"You damned jerk… I was just trying to compliment you…"
Lioran took a deep breath—one that seemed to carry the weight of years of anger and sorrow.
"At this rate, I'm afraid I'll lose my mind because of this annoying spirit before I even find my mother's killer…"
Then he slowly turned his head and fixed his gaze on Zubi.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
Zubi paused for a moment. His eyes fixed on the road ahead, as if searching for the right words. Then he replied,
"Hmmm… Duke Jinf doesn't really control the city. In fact, the city is in the hands of his wife's father—Duke Vanahar Joseph. Alongside him, the slave traders and two noble families run everything. Duke Jinf only carries the title of duke, but the real power isn't his."
Hearing Zubi's explanation, Lioran slowly lifted his head. His gaze drifted toward the sky, where the colors were gradually fading from blue into shades of orange and crimson.
'There are quite a few of them… So these are the ones behind the city's chaos—and the reason slavery was allowed again. What should I do with them? Should I kill them all… or turn them all into my dogs?'
His thoughts twisted like the long shadows of the setting sun. Every name, every hidden power, formed a new target in his mind.
Still lost in those thoughts, he watched as the sun finally sank below the horizon and its last rays disappeared.
At that moment, Goba's voice broke the silence.
"We're here… my lord. The city of Orestal."
Lioran lowered his gaze from the sky and looked ahead. The city walls were beginning to come into view—massive, cold, and silent.
'Thinking about it now won't change anything. I'll decide when I see them…'
He slowly extended his hand toward Goba and snapped his fingers.
Snap—
A golden light suddenly flared around Goba's body.
It wasn't violent or blinding—rather soft and alive, like the warm breath of the sun. The light rippled gently in the air as it wrapped around him.
Goba looked around in panic and shouted,
"What is this? Where did this light come from?"
But at that very moment, something inside him began to change.
A pleasant warmth spread through his body. The pain from the lashes began to fade, the bruises slowly disappeared, and the wounds that were still burning closed one by one. Even the mark from Lioran's punch quietly healed.
His breathing slowed. His shoulders relaxed, and the tremble in his voice vanished.
"It's so warm… it feels so good… my wounds… they're all healing…"
Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at Lioran. The fear in his eyes had faded, replaced by astonishment.
In a softer voice, he asked,
"My lord… was it you who cast such beautiful magic on me?"
Lioran hadn't done it out of kindness. He had done it simply so that no one in the city would grow suspicious.
He had used healing magic so that Goba would, at least on the surface, appear healthy and unharmed.
With his usual cold gaze, completely devoid of emotion, he said,
"Yes. Now prove that you were worthy of such warm and beautiful magic."
Without hesitation, Goba placed a hand over his chest. His eyes shone with determination—and a trace of hope mixed with fear.
"I will, my lord… I promise you, as long as I live, I will serve you."
Lioran only gave a small nod.
The wagon came to a stop in front of the gates of Orestal.
Night had fully fallen. The dark, heavy sky stretched above them, and the faint glow of torches flickered like tired breaths along the tall, cracked stone walls.
In front of the gate stood a soldier. His armor sat slightly crooked on his body, and the sword hanging at his side rested lifelessly in its sheath.
When he saw the wagon approaching, his expression didn't change. He simply clenched his fist and gave the gate a slow, half-hearted knock.
The massive gate opened with a deep, groaning sound. Beyond it, the illuminated buildings of Orestal appeared—windows spilling warm yellow light into the night.
The wagon continued forward without slowing, moving to enter the city.
Seeing Goba holding the reins and sitting in the driver's seat, the soldier blinked in surprise. Inwardly, he thought,
'Isn't that Goba, the slave trader? Why is he the one holding the reins?'
A moment later, his eyes fell on Zubi's face.
The instant he recognized him, he quickly straightened and bowed his head respectfully.
"Welcome, Commander."
Yet in his mind, confusion lingered.
'What is Commander Zubi doing in this wagon? And
why is a slave trader holding the reins? That's strange…'
Zubi said nothing. He simply gave a small nod in response.
The wagon passed through the gate and entered the city streets.
From behind, the soldier watched it for a few seconds—until his gaze fell on a man with red hair sitting quietly inside the wagon. There was something strange about him… something heavy in his presence.
The soldier muttered under his breath,
"Who is that red-haired man…? Why does it feel like both Commander Zubi and that slave trader are his subordinates?"
In silence, Lioran began to assess the city. His gaze drifted slowly through the alleys and paused on houses where warm yellow light spilled from the windows, trembling across the stone-paved streets. Yet those lights held no real warmth; they felt more like a desperate attempt to hide the darkness.
His eyes fell on people wearing torn, worn-out clothes, leaning against the walls of buildings. Their heads hung low, and in front of each of them lay a begging bowl—empty bowls that seemed as though they had not heard the sound of a coin in a long time. Some of them sat completely still, to the point that it was hard to tell whether they were asleep or simply too exhausted to move.
A little farther ahead, shopkeepers sat on small stools while their dark-skinned slaves silently packed away the stalls. The metal collars around their necks glinted coldly beneath the lantern light. With practiced movements, they closed the chests and folded the cloths—no complaints, no words, only obedience.
With a cold, emotionless gaze, Lioran continued observing the city. His eyes slid over the streets, the people, and the lights without a single change in his expression. No surprise, no visible anger—only a heavy silence, as if he saw everything and yet nothing about it was new to him.
Then his gaze stopped on a building.
A luxurious, multi-story restaurant drenched in lights. Its bright, lavish glow shone in the darkness of the night like an open wound—too lively, too different from everything around it.
In front of the restaurant, slaves stood lined up in a row. Heavy metal collars circled their necks, reflecting the lantern light with a cold gleam. Among them were two elves and three beastkin with cat and rabbit ears. The rest were dark-skinned humans. All of them stood motionless, their heads slightly lowered, their eyes empty.
Lioran paused for a moment. The contrast between the restaurant's splendor and the stillness of the slaves was unsettling.
Then he calmly asked,
"Why are so many slaves standing in front of that restaurant?"
Hearing the question, Goba cast a brief glance at the line of slaves and answered in a casual tone.
"They belong to the nobles and the slave traders. Whenever they go to a restaurant or come out for shopping, they bring their slaves with them… to show their power. The more slaves they have, the more power it means."
Lioran said nothing. His gaze slowly drifted across the slaves' faces and paused on their eyes.
Right then, he understood.
What should exist deep within a human's gaze was no longer there. No hope, no fear, not even expectation. Only emptiness.
Silent eyes… eyes that had begun to resemble his own. Eyes that seemed to have already reached the conclusion that it didn't matter what happened next.
Anahita emerged from Lioran's body. She floated beside him in the air and stared at the slaves with a sorrowful expression. Her voice was low and heavy, as though each word was being pulled from deep within her heart.
"They stopped living a long time ago… they're only alive."
The wagon gently turned to the left, and Lioran's gaze drifted away from the line of slaves.
As the road changed direction, they entered a wider street. Its stone pavement glimmered beneath the lantern light, and at the far end of it stood a large crossroads. Right in the center of that intersection, the shadow of a massive statue loomed.
The closer the wagon moved, the clearer the statue became, and the heavier its presence seemed to weigh on the air.
Moments later, its full form appeared before them.
A magnificent white statue, nearly ten meters tall, depicting a young and handsome man. His expression was calm yet commanding—as if he had seen everything and moved beyond it all. In his hands he held a great sword, its tip driven deep into the ground, while both of his hands rested solemnly upon the hilt.