Despite Soral’s worries, their trip to Valen was surprisingly painless and danger free. If it weren’t for the fact that all of the locals had shining silver hair like Storm, it would have seemed like any other kingdom on the surface. Then again, the same could be said of Qilin. Just as Soral was growing more used to the people of Valen, Storm led them straight to a collection of ruins, and a crypt within them.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Ruena checked, “The Valen take their resting places very seriously.”

“Then take this place seriously,” Storm advised, “but don’t worry. This is not a resting place for the Valen. It is a place where they laid their enemies after the Endless War.”

“An abandoned crypt holding the remains of the enemies of Valen,” Ruena repeated, “That sounds a bit too conspicuous to be a secret path, doesn’t it?”

“Has Gero ever been one to care about being inconspicuous?” Storm asked.

Soral thought of the grand auction he had been a part of. “Definitely not,” he agreed, “He likes attention as much as he does money, or whatever else it is he trades.”

“Power,” Storm supplied helpfully, stepping into the crypt without hesitation, “There are a few traps but nothing too deadly.”

“Nothing too deadly,” Ruena repeated under her breath, “Soral, if this gets dangerous, you can get us out, right?”

“I can,” Soral confirmed. So long as he noticed the danger in time. He figured it was best not to tell Ruena about the second part. He found himself missing the endless bravado he felt whenever he was Mr. Mischief. Why hadn’t he been the one to come on this mission? That’s right… It was because he lacked stealth and this was a rescue.

Soral followed Storm into the darkness of the crypt, oddly reminded of his adventure in the mine snake cave all that time ago. This time, he had come prepared. Soral pulled out a magic lantern from his pocket. It drew from the user’s magic to light, but that wasn’t a problem for Soral. For some odd reason, Storm seemed mildly disappointed at the light, but made no comment.

“Are you sure we can trust him?” Ruena whispered.

“No,” Soral admitted, “but we can’t get into the Slave Trade without him.”

That was when he heard it. An all too familiar hiss, accompanied by the flash of something moving against the edges of the tunnel walls. They traveled deeper underground, the manmade tunnel walls of the crypt turning into a haphazardly carved stone tunnel. Openings appeared here and there leading to rooms that seemed empty except for the broken bottles of ashes strewn over the floor.

It gave a disrespectful and unwelcome feeling. There was crunching sound as a mine snake darted across tiny broken shards of glass, seeming miraculously uninjured.

“Mine snake,” Soral muttered. He thought that was where the hissing had come from. There was always the chance it had been some other kind of snake.

“Mine snake?!” Ruena repeated, alarmed, “We need to get out of here!”

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“It’s all right,” Soral assured her, “Jazz is here.”

Jazz gave a confident meow, as if to assert his presence in Soral’s arms. Unlike Ruena, Rosalie didn’t seem concerned at all. She seemed oddly at home in the shadows of the crypt. Then again, she was a nightmare.

Storm led them deeper. The hiss of the mine snakes faded away to a steady drip echoing from one of the many paths ahead. The path had forked, and forked again, but Storm continued to lead them without a moment’s hesitation through the maze. Just as their journey began to feel a bit too much like an endless hike, they entered a large room with glowing roots Soral recognized as trystalis hanging from the ceiling.

On the far side of the room, supported by two large, black pillars, was a boarded up doorway. Or was it a door made to look like a boarded up doorway? Something about the systematic placement of the boards felt off to Soral. Storm quickly proved his theory correct by opening it.

“Here it is,” he told them, revealing what was clearly a portal behind it, “This will take you to the cellar where he stores his unsorted goods. At is the place the majority of the paths lead to. The other is for a different kind of supplier and is far more difficult to slip in through.”

“Is it still part of the trade?” Soral asked.

“It is,” Storm confirmed, “Though it is on the opposite end. Our goal here is not to free slaves, but rescue his son. If I were him, I would keep myself and my son far away from the place the slave trade is held. Then again, I tend to be more cautious.”

More cautious? That wasn’t a word Soral would have used to describe Storm. Would Janon have been able to meet him before if he was locked away on the other side of the compound? That didn’t seem right.

“I think he is closer to the slave trade,” he disagreed, “Gero has been using him to make those collars.”

“Do you have a plan to find him?” Storm asked.

“Yes. You can focus on being a distraction,” Soral told him.

Storm smiled. “Good luck then.”

After Storm disappeared from view, Jazz slid out of Soral’s arms intent on using Storm’s distraction in his own way. Soral watched the cat go with a bit of concern, but if things went wrong, Jazz could always surprise his pursuers with another giant isopod. The idea brought a smile to Soral’s lips, but it was his turn to take action.

It was surprising how easy it was for Soral to connect to Janon’s mind. He could immediately tell that Janon was busy creating and sabotaging the next batch of collars for Gero. Now came the harder part. Soral hadn’t really done much testing with communicating with a distant target.

‘Hi?’ he tried, a bit too quiet. It caught Janon’s attention but he clearly believed he was imagining things. Soral focused and tried again. ‘Janon, it’s me. I’ve come to rescue you.’

This time Janon jumped up and looked around. “Where are you?” he asked aloud.

‘I guess I could say I am in your head. There is no need to speak out loud,’ Soral explained, and then continued on to describe their plan. ‘Can you guide us?’

‘I can, but be careful. There are always guards nearby, even if there is a disturbance.’

Janon was focusing on his thoughts far more than necessary, but Soral didn’t bother to call him out on it. It was good enough that he was not speaking out loud and drawing attention. Now that they had made it to this stage, their lack of proper plan seemed evident, but plans never worked out properly anyway.

“Let’s go,” Soral told Ruena and Rosalie as he received Janon’s first instructions.

==========

Perhaps it was just his mood, but Gero’s slave trade seemed to have grown tackier since Storm’s last visit. Everything was still of the highest quality, but the organization was lacking. Then again, it had been a decade or so. It was only natural that some things would change. Storm picked up a gaudy headdress from the piles of unsorted products in the continued storage beyond the first room. Definitely tacky. He tossed it behind him, hearing the piece crack against the hard stone floor.

Storm looked through the piles of rubbish until he found something interesting enough to take with him. Even if Gero didn’t recognize it as his, he was certain the greedy man would want it. It was quite the nice dagger, even if it did bear a hefty curse.

Storm moved forward and in an instant his speed took him to the more populated displays where Gero had things for sale in a sort of silent auction. Several guests jumped back at Storm’s sudden appearance, causing Storm to smile. Startling greedy fools was always fun. Now all he had to do was startle them enough that Gero would come running. Even if the bait worked on no one else, it needed to work on him.

“I found this lovely cursed dagger,” Storm mused out loud, surveying those in his surroundings, “Who should I test it on?”

As soon as the threat left his lips, someone activated the emergency alarm. Some of the customers panicked. Others prepared for a battle. If this was a normal fight, Storm was bound to lose against so many. However, this wasn’t a fight for life. It was a fight of the mind.

Storm strolled to the nearest case displaying a fragile valuable. “How about this?” he asked the crowd, bringing down his knife without hesitation. The resulting screams drowned out the sound of the porcelain mask shattering.

Just as he thought. These greedy people cared more about the safety of the products than each other. Gero had best come quickly or there would be nothing left to sell. He would use their own attacks, no matter how hesitant or careful, to destroy as much as possible. It seemed like a fitting punishment.