The spearpoint gleamed faintly in the torchlight, a sharp line between Kael’s chest and the man’s hard eyes. The slaver’s guard shifted his stance, feet braced against the dirt, ready to thrust at the first wrong word.

  Beside Kael, the hall guard stiffened, hand inching toward his blade. Kael lifted one finger slightly, stopping him without looking. His gaze never left the spearman.

  The silence stretched. The distant clatter of chains and muttered voices echoed faintly from the caves, drifting on the night air.

  Kael let his shoulders sink, his posture loosening, cloak falling forward to shadow more of his face. He let out a low chuckle, dry as gravel.

  “Late to the party, aren’t we?” he said, voice pitched low, carrying the weary drawl of a man too long on the road. “Merchants sent me from the west road. Had to bribe three patrols to get here without questions. And now your spear greets me at the door? That’s gratitude for you.”

  The guard blinked, suspicion still etched on his face. “Merchants?” His spear twitched, but he did not thrust. “No one told me of more coming tonight.”

  Kael tilted his head, letting annoyance creep into his voice. “Of course they didn’t. You think they send word to every gate rat with a stick? No. They keep their mouths shut so the coin keeps flowing. That’s how it’s always been.”

  The spearman’s jaw tightened, his grip shifting on the shaft of his weapon. Kael saw the flicker in his eyes—the doubt, the irritation of being called a rat. He pressed harder, voice quick but steady.

  “Look, I’ve no interest in wasting breath on you. My goods are waiting further up the path. My buyer will not be pleased if I’m late. You want that on your head? Go ahead, keep me standing in the dirt while others take my coin.”

  He leaned slightly into the spear, eyes burning through the shadow of his hood. “But if you’ve any sense, you’ll step aside and let me through before someone higher than you asks why I was delayed.”

  The guard hesitated. His spear wavered, lowering just a hair. He studied Kael again—his cloak, his steady stance, the edge in his voice. The silence stretched long enough that Kael felt the guard beside him tense, ready for blood.

  Then, slowly, the spearman grunted. “Fine. Go. But don’t cause trouble inside. And if I find out you lied—” He jabbed the spear once toward Kael’s chest, a warning more than a threat.

  Kael’s lips curved faintly. “If you find out, I’ll already be gone.”

  The guard spat into the dirt and stepped aside.

  Kael walked forward at once, cloak shifting around his boots. He did not look back, though he felt the spear’s tip follow him for several paces. The hall guard kept close behind, his breath shaky with relief.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  They passed through the ruins, deeper into the shadowed fortress, where the old stone walls crumbled like broken teeth around them. The closer they came, the thicker the noise grew. The crackle of fires. The low murmur of trade. The sharp cry of someone in pain.

  The auction mouth ahead flickered with torchlight. Beyond it, the black market pulsed with life.

  Kael slowed at the edge of the shadows, pressing himself against the wall. He glanced once at the guard beside him, eyes narrowing. “Keep your mouth shut. Watch. Listen. If they believe us, we’ll be among them soon. If not—” His hand brushed the hilt of his sword. “We won’t leave quiet.”

  The guard swallowed and nodded.

  Kael took a slow breath, steadying himself. Then, cloak drawn close, he stepped into the black market.

  Inside the auction , the air was thick with smoke and sweat. Torches wedged into cracks along the stone walls spat and hissed, their flames sending shadows sprawling across the jagged ceiling. Merchants leaned over makeshift tables, coins clinking as they counted. Chains rattled, iron biting against wrists and ankles as the slaves were displayed like cattle—men, women, children, some too weak to stand, others with eyes bright and burning in silent rage.

  Laughter rang out from the far end, where a group of guards drank from battered cups, their armor dented, their weapons close at hand. Others moved through the crowd, spears and short swords ready, watching the buyers and the sellers with cold, flat stares.

  Kael walked with measured steps, his eyes never lingering too long on one thing. To look too closely was to invite suspicion. Still, his chest tightened at the sight of the slaves. A girl no older than ten sat slumped against the stone, a rope tied around her thin neck. A woman with gray in her hair clutched her daughter, lips trembling as she tried to shield her from the leering eyes of buyers.

  Kael forced himself to keep moving. His hand itched for his blade, but not yet. Not until the others were in position.

  They wove deeper into the market, and already Kael could see its shape. The tables formed a rough circle around a central firepit, where a fat man in a stained tunic sat on a stool, barking orders. Chains led away from him into the shadows of side tunnels, where more captives waited.

  The buyers moved freely, some cloaked like Kael, others brazen in fine clothes. Coin changed hands often, glinting in the firelight.

  Kael slowed just enough to whisper from the corner of his mouth. “Memorize every tunnel. Every guard. We’ll need it when the signal comes.”

  The hall guard nodded, his eyes flicking nervously from figure to figure.

  Chains rattled faintly in the dark, and Kael’s stomach knotted.

  They passed beneath a low arch where the stone had crumbled. Ahead, the cavern mouth yawned wide. Within, torches burned brighter, illuminating the heart of the black market.

  Kael slowed, eyes scanning. Stalls of stolen goods stretched along the cavern walls—silks, weapons, trinkets from raided villages. But at the center, raised on a crude wooden platform, stood the auction block.

  A heavyset man in a red coat paced upon it, his voice booming over the noise. His hair was slick with oil, his smile wide and false. He held a ledger in one hand, waving the other as he shouted prices.

  Behind him, chained figures stood in a line. Men and women first—thin, ragged, beaten down. The crowd of buyers shouted, waving coins, each bid like a hammer strike.

  Then the auctioneer raised his voice louder still. “Next!” he bellowed. “A prize for those with taste! Not just muscle or labor, but youth. Obedience. Potential!”

  Two guards dragged forward a small figure. A child. No older than ten, maybe younger, thin arms bound at the wrists with rope. The boy stumbled, nearly falling, but the guard yanked him upright. His eyes darted wildly, fear shining through the dirt on his face.

  The cavern roared with laughter and jeers.

  Kael’s chest went rigid. For a heartbeat, his mask nearly broke—the urge to draw his blade and cut them all down surged so strong his hand tightened on the hilt. He felt the chosen guard at his side stiffen too, sensing his lord’s fury.

  But Kael forced it down. Not yet. His jaw locked, his teeth grinding, but his hood stayed low. He leaned slightly toward his man, voice a whisper only he could hear.

  “Hold steady.”

  The auctioneer spread his arms wide. “A child! Strong lungs, quick feet! Who will start the bidding? Five silvers? Ten? Look at him—he’ll fetch thrice that in labor within a year. Perhaps more in the right household!”

  Coins clinked, voices rose.

  Kael’s eyes moved swiftly across the cavern. He noted the positions of every guard, every entrance, the numbers within. The fury in his chest was no longer a storm—it was a blade being drawn slowly from its sheath.

  The boy on the platform struggled again, pulling against the rope. The guard cuffed him hard across the face, knocking him to his knees. The crowd laughed louder.

  Kael’s hand slid from his sword hilt at last, only to rest briefly on his guard’s arm. A silent command: not yet.

  Then his gaze fixed back on the auctioneer,

  his voice in his mind cold as stone.

  When the signal comes, you will be the first to fall.