“Do you know him?” I whisper, glancing at Sophia.

“I do,” she answers, voice shaky and grip tightening around my arm. Her entire body trembles, as if she’s trying to steady herself against a rising tide of dread. “He’s a brutal slave master who owns hundreds of slaves. Don’t be fooled by their appearance—some of them are immensely powerful. I know because… I worked with him once. He handed me those women, and I… I turned them into his slaves.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and fraught with regret.

“Is that so?” I say quietly, arching an eyebrow. “And how strong are they compared to me?”

She inhales, struggling to maintain her composure.

“Bromrik isn’t strong. But his combat slaves are all well-trained. None of them are as strong as you though, except the two girls walking by his side. Despite being only Elite Warriors, their speed has already reached that of Champion Rankers.”

My gaze zeroes in on the pair of slender elves.

“Those two? The ones with daggers?”

“Exactly,” Sophia confirms. “Moon elves. Deceptively fast, ruthlessly efficient. Wait, are you seriously intending to fight them? Can you even get out of this barrier in the first place?”

“Well, there’s something I would like to try.”

Sophia’s insight sharpens my focus: in this world, appearances are dangerously misleading. The elven pair, initially overshadowed by the grotesque presence of Bromrik, now command my attention. Their delicate frames, smaller even than a teenage girl’s, suggest fragility at first glance—almost malnourished. But turns out, those two are the most dangerous.

Menacingly, Bromrik approaches us. Up close, his grotesque face twists into a wide, leering grin, surrounded by the stark contrast of the beautiful, broken women trailing behind him. The image is nauseating, evoking the worst kind of predatory indulgence.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my darling Sophia!” he crows, voice dripping with malicious glee. “And what do we have here? A handsome fellow and a cute little girl.”

Yumi flinches at his words, edging behind me, her small fingers digging into my sleeve.

“We want nothing from you, Bromrik,” Sophia retorts, though her voice a little shaky. “We’ve known each other for ages—can’t you find it in you to show an ounce of conscience? Just let us go, and we’ll leave quietly. No trouble.”

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Bromrik’s twisted grin widens, his beady eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Trouble?” he repeats, “my dear, if I let you go, the only trouble I’d face is missing out on a six-million-crown bounty! And as for conscience, Sophia… you know me far too well.” His tone plunges into mocking derision. “Do I really strike you as someone with a moral compass?”

Sophia’s face pales at his cold dismissal. Her fists clench, nails biting into her palms. The tension in the air thickens, and the quiet drip of water from the cavern walls sounds unnaturally loud.

Meanwhile, I can’t help but laugh quietly at the absurdity of it all.

So, that’s the situation. Understandable.

The bounty on our heads is so absurdly high that even those who once worked with Sophia, like Curtis and now Bromrik, have revealed their true, treacherous colors.

“M-master,” Sophia whispers to me. “Do- do you have any platinum left?”

Her desperation is palpable. She’s clinging to the faint hope that a bribe might save us, recognizing the near-impossibility of surviving a confrontation.

“I do,” I reply flatly. “But do you really think he’d let us go if we paid him?”

Her silence speaks volumes.

Not a chance. Curtis had only cooperated because he knew Bromrik was coming, scheming to wring every bit of value from us before betraying us. But Bromrik the Chainmaster? His greed and ruthlessness are legendary, obviously. He’d kill us without hesitation, seizing both the platinum and the colossal bounty.

“Then… what should we do?” Sophia asks, her voice trembling.

“Simple,” I reply, then quickly load my gun with my platinum bullets.

Sophia looks at me, confused.

I suppose it’s not surprising—she’s never learned the intricacies of firearms. While she’s seen me shoot, reloading a weapon is an entirely different matter for someone unfamiliar with its mechanics.

With the gun ready, I take aim, leveling the barrel at Bromrik’s grotesque face. The smug slaver stands confidently behind the glowing barrier, his arrogant demeanor suggesting he believes it to be an impenetrable fortress.

“Yumi, look away,” I whisper, shielding her from what’s about to happen.

Bromrik notices my movements and laughs, his voice grating and laced with derision. “Hoho! What do we have here? A magic wand?” he mocks. “Go ahead, try your little trick! This barrier is of rank five! No one can possibly brea—”

BANG!

The deafening shot reverberates in the vast chamber. The barrier shatters. The platinum bullet, with unerring precision, finds its mark, drilling itself deep into Bromrik’s skull. Blood and brain matter spray outward in a gruesome display, painting the cavern in shades of crimson.

Bromrik the Chainmaster crumples like a discarded rag doll, lifeless before he even hits the ground.

It’s just that easy.

For a moment, silence blankets the chamber, broken only by the faint echo of the gunshot fading into the distance. I step forward, through the shattered remnants of the barrier, my gaze sweeping over the motionless forms of the women surrounding Bromrik.

Their faces are blank, their eyes hollow. Their stillness is unnerving, but not unexpected. Slaves, bound by the commands of their master, exist solely to obey. With no orders to follow, they remain frozen, purposeless. They won’t attack.

Moreover, as a slave owner myself, I am now well aware of how a slave contract works: a slave can never harm their master nor disobey the master’s orders.

And then, there’s the most important thing: when the master dies, all the slaves will instantly die too.