Luis walked along the street with Marín. They chatted and smiled like old friends as they turned corners and entered different shops. At each establishment, they exited through a hidden door, repeating the pattern for an hour.
—Nobody's following us anymore, honey," Marin said playfully, clinging to Luis's arm. He led him to a hidden warehouse near their location.
As they entered, an old man with an imposing physique was waiting for them. His gaze scanned Luis with a hint of calculated curiosity, as if gauging his usefulness before speaking.
—Vernar, this is my friend Luis. He has come to see your merchandise.
The merchant smiled, but there was no friendliness in his expression, only certainty.
—A pleasure to meet you, young man. Miss Marin has told me about you. Bodies are not traded here. Desperation is traded. Every soul that walks through these doors leaves its past behind and becomes a commodity. There is no history, no name, only utility.
His words hung in the air with an immovable weight, as if etched into the very fabric of the place.
After pronouncing his welcome, he escorted them down a series of corridors protected by armed guards. Their gazes were empty, disciplined, emotionless. As they proceeded, the density of security increased.
—Sorry for the delay,—Vernar continued, with a barely perceptible smile—, But my merchandise is in the deepest area. It prevents theft and, above all, escape. Getting in will be difficult, but getting out... that would be practically impossible.
Luis examined every detail of the security system. It wasn't just the strength of the guards that made the place impenetrable, but its design. Each corridor had three doors, but only one led forward. The others led to random areas, all guarded.
It was brilliant. If the guards failed to stop the intruders, the labyrinth itself would consume them. Long enough for Vernar to secure his business without interruption.
After several minutes, they reached a cavernous space. The walls, reinforced with packed earth, were firmer than expected, but the air... the air was thick, saturated with moisture and the sour stench of bodies locked in too long. With every breath, the weight of the place became more unbearable.
Luis ran his palm along the earthen wall, feeling the rough texture under his fingers.
—So we've actually been descending," he murmured with interest. It wasn't a straight path. Very clever.
—Hehehehe, that's right, young man,—Vernar replied—, Every door we passed has taken us one floor lower. We are now twelve levels underground. This helps me make sure no one escapes or is found.
Luis smiled, his thoughts submerged in the past. The dungeons he designed himself were even more unforgiving: passages of no return, echoes of suffering trapped in stone. Every crevice hid stories of betrayal and despair. He had been the architect of that system, the puppet master of forgotten lives. The thought of it stirred a dark satisfaction, an echo of an era where the game of power was his only distraction.
They came to a heavily guarded sector. Seven marked doors dominated the entrance, each with symbols carved into the blackened wood.
Vernar paused, his eyes scanning the markings as if they were a code.
—We have arrived—he announced in a firm voice—, Señorita Marin, Señor Luis, this is the condemned sector. This is where we place the most troublesome slaves. Most of them are murderers or people who live only with the desire for revenge.
Luis watched the doors with renewed interest.
—The place where the betrayed end up— he mused with a quiet smile—, Most were sold against their will. Their lust for revenge makes them uncontrollable. That's why we keep them here.
Vernar opened one of the seven doors, letting out an even heavier air, heavy with dust and dampness. Inside, the cells stretched out in endless rows. The dim light flickered on the earthen walls, casting distorted shadows. Screams, curses and threats could be heard, like an endless chant of despair.
The guards strode down the corridor with firm steps, their gazes scanning each cell with precision. Luis sensed the change in the atmosphere: the pressure here came not only from confinement, but from the hatred that hung in the air, fuelled by every prisoner who saw his existence reduced to a commodity.
Vernar stopped in front of one particular cell.
—Here it is. This is the merchandise I wanted to show you. I'm sure it will be to your liking—he said with a sardonic laugh.
Looking inside, Luis saw a man who appeared to be in his thirties. He was extremely thin, his skin pale and his bones marked under his skin.
—Vernar, what is this?
—Miss Marin, don't look at him with inexperienced eyes. This person seems insignificant, but of everyone here, he is the most dangerous.
Marin frowned. Before his eyes, he saw only a dying man. The other slaves were screaming, cursing, some even banging on their cells. But this guy... this guy didn't even seem to be breathing.
Luis said nothing. He just watched him, with a slight smile, while inside he knew that what Vernar said was true. He nodded, inviting him to continue.
—He is the former prince of the Eternun kingdom—Vernar said, enjoying the revelation—, Betrayed by his own mother so that his younger brother could take the throne. His cultivation was of legendary rank, but after the betrayal he was reduced to High-Level Low.
Marin felt a chill. The Eternun kingdom was the most powerful on the continent. He knew that, three years ago, the king had died and his son had assumed the throne. It was also said that the eldest prince lost his sanity and tried to kill his mother and brother, and was defeated by them. As he was a nobleman, he was not executed... but exiled.
Today, seeing him here, he knew it had all been a lie.
—That's right, Miss Marin—Vernar murmured with satisfaction—, The official story is just a sham. Of course, if you consider that exiling him means selling him into slavery and leaving him in a pit to die, then there is some truth to the lie.
His smile widened.
—I was lucky enough to acquire it for a high price. Something tells me it might come in handy in the future.
Louis continued to stare at the fallen prince without changing his expression. Vernar, for his part, continued enthusiastically.
—It is worth a hundred thousand gold coins. But before you say it's too much, let me explain why you need it.
He paused theatrically.
—Before he was caught, he killed almost the entire royal guard single-handedly. He is also an expert in assassination techniques.
Luis pondered for a moment.
—Money is not an issue—he finally replied—, Open the dungeon. Let me talk to him before I decide if he's of any use to me.
—Of course, sir. Take your time.
Vernar signalled to the soldiers, who removed the cell bars and opened the heavy metal door.
Luis entered with a calm step, his hands folded behind his back, standing in front of the prisoner in absolute silence.
Aron was bound with special chains, blocking any vestige of power. His arms, legs and neck were secured with thick links designed to restrain even Semi-Godly cultivation.
His naked torso revealed his extreme thinness; bones were marked beneath the skin as if hunger had devoured any trace of vitality. His black trousers were worn and torn, more like rags than a real garment. He did not move. He barely seemed alive.
Luis bowed his head slightly, watching him carefully before speaking.
—How much longer are you going to pretend to be finished?, Do you enjoy the theatre, or has the legend-killer come to an end?