The sun crested the horizon, splashing red light across the burnt noose. Liam turned away, trying to focus on anything else. Breathe caught in his throat, his heart choking on the ghosts of his wrath.

Light illuminated the market’s well trod footpaths, marking where stalls often went, looking hopeful, as if the dawn would come with friends and pleasant transactions. But the iron bars over the warehouses demonstrated that this was not remotely true. Felinid slaves lay together on the other side of the grate, huddled in meowntains as they slept. Piled together for warmth, since they lacked any protective clothing or blankets. Except for a single slave. His collar was silver, and was so tall it became more of a gorget than of a collar, armor to protect the throat. The creature's torso towered above Liam, triggering the reptilian part of his brain to scream in panic and danger.

Screaming at the werewolf.

The slave was clearly male and mostly humanoid, but his face was that of a wolf’s, with his body covered in a fine black fur, like a doberman’s coat or a jackal’s pelt. Yet his claws were daggers, and the hands seemed specially evolved for sweeping slashes. Large, with disproportionately thick bones and knuckles that seemed to overlap. While his amber eyes flicked from Quetz to Liam, and back again, narrowing with each movement.

More than fifty bodies were piled near the slavepen, the executed mingling with the fallen guards. The executioner and magistrate were also present, their attire marking them as separate from prisoners or warriors. But Sirin’s body was noticeably absent, no doubt a token of respect for the Lightning Lord.

One hand extended towards the dead, preparing to bury the sinners. He would burn them and bury Sirin. That thought cooled his flames. These men had families, they ought to bury their dead as well.

Put their ghosts to rest. Just like Liam intended too. Sirin’s burial would close the Kheresh chapter of his life for good. She had most likely been taken away to rest in the Duke’s own graveyard, keeping her bones there as a political maneuver he surely hoped would link Kheresh with a Lightning Lord. Although… Liam looked at his skin, finding the hue to be that of the desert people. His migraine had faded, but his thoughts came slowly.

Sirin’s body belongs to this land. She mentioned her father was some kind of noble, Emir Efendi.

“Run along runt. Or you’ll join us in slavery.” Growled the werewolf.

Join you? Naw, I think you’re going to join me. A big strong lycan like you could carry me all the way to Greenwood.

He sauntered right up to the iron bars and grasped them, prepared to force the lock with magic and finding the gate already open. No one had bothered to lock up the slaves, and they’d stayed here.

You broken fools, can I even drag your asses to Greenwood? Or will you fight me along the way? I should leave…

But, what if an eclipsiarch is here?

“Leave now. Or I’ll devour you. Grind your bones between my teeth so your mother will not even have the pitiable joy of weeping over your skeleton.” Said the werewolf, rising to his full height. A gargantuan stature of at least eight feet tall, more than double Liam’s current height, maybe even triple.

“See those gallows? That’s where my mother died. You could have intervened on her behalf, but you didn’t. I’m surprised, the others of your kind would never have allowed their kin to hang without a trial.” Said Liam, goading the wolfman.

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Vertical pupils dilated, but the wolf said nothing. Doubt staying his throat as a toddler chastised him.

“The last werewolf I knew died for the sake of an honour duel. To prove the worth of two Lightning Lords. Do you know his name?”

“Slaves do not have names.” Chuckled the werewolf.

“Weaklings do not have names, but don’t you dare forget the King’s Blade. Unlike your sorry ass, Taloc has not forsaken him. He died to clear the way for slavery’s end.” Said Liam, detecting a faint aura of mana. It seemed to flow around the werewolf, but did not exude from him.

Could an eclipsiarch really be present? No, those are too rare, it’s probably an umbraquin… Ah, but I can’t just reveal one of them, attempting to do so could be the death of us both…

“Ha, your joke sucks.” Sneered the werewolf, approaching Liam with two clawed hands. “A toddler fight a werewolf? I’ll skin you alive.” Lied the lycanthrope, licking his teeth.

Liam raised both hands to his ears, angling them forward so the werewolf could see.

“I am a Lightning Lord, will you join my service and return me to my eclipsiarch?” Asked Liam.

A dozen ‘sleeping’ slaves stopped breathing, including the werewolf. And two dozen eyes cracked open to face Liam. Slaves generally avoided pain, starvation, and other abuse. They were effectively human in that way, with one important diversion. All felinds seemed hard coded to protect eclipsiarchs. As if that was some kind of safety measure wired into their brains to protect Taloc’s chosen race. One more misstep, and Liam might have to defend himself.

“Why would I trade one slaver for another? You reek of magic… Hmm, there was a ball of darkness that interrupted the execution several days ago. It wasn’t much taller than you are now. But I would rather die than serve a mad lord who kills loyal protectors.” Said the werewolf, stepping up to Liam with hands on his hips and teeth exposed.

If the eclipsiarchs are coded to rule, did Taloc engineer the werewolves for loyalty? I mean, it makes sense. Taloc didn’t seem like a reincarnated geneticist… But Earth and this world aren’t the only worlds he is aware of… Hmmm… Where did you come from Taloc? Or were you just strengthening their already existing tendencies, like selectively breeding small populations to produce the desired traits. Weird, I really need to find a way onto that prison ship of yours. Screw it, let’s assume he engineered them and play into that.

“Since I’m asking for your loyalty. It is appropriate for you to question my judgment before swearing an oath.” Said Liam, speaking his thoughts. He let go of his ears and faced the werewolf. “I’m well aware of how I appear…” Said Liam, walking over to the densest meowntain of felinids.

In a way, it was sort of cute how they cuddled for warmth, wrapping their tails around each other and squishing close. But not tonight. Teeth barred at his approach, backs arched, like a pack of feral cats that were hot glued and duck taped together. A sigh escaped Liam’s temper, and he raised both hands. The execution had totally depleted his mana, and hang gliding Quetz left him with an empty reserve, as if his very soul were sore. The magical equivalent of shaky legs.

[Mana manipulation] level 10 activated at Liam’s command, a perk of his previous life; it had become a part of him, like an aetheric hand, rather than an external talent; allowing him a proficiency that surpassed this world’s understanding of magic. And to do things others considered, unnatural. Which is how he used it now. Using his sixth sense he mentally grasped the mana in each of the slave’s collars and pulled, ripping apart the enchantments that enslaved the cat-people.

Dark and light affinity mana flowed from collars to Liam, Aching soreness vanished from his mind, like a direct injection of methamphetamines. His mind felt like an egg in the process of being UN-scrambled. Alacrity surged through his brain with the infusion of mana.

Collars clinked open, their binding shredded by Liam’s will, but he wasn’t finished. For every ten collars he siphoned off a fragment of the gained power to cast a heal spell on himself, allowing him to grow a little taller, and a little stronger. Although this time he focused on allowing his body to take its natural shape. Careful to hold on as his ears grew an inch longer.

Definitely an elf… Man, how did I not notice? Did I hide my elf-i-ness under baby fat?