Slave City has thrived in this dense forest for three years, effectively concealed from prying eyes. The sheer expanse of the forest aids in shrouding its existence, but Nightowl enhances this natural cover with a sophisticated glamour spell. To any passerby, the city simply appears as an unremarkable cluster of trees, seamlessly blending into the surrounding wilderness.

However, even a magician of Nightowl's caliber cannot cast a spell powerful enough to cloak an entire city by himself. Instead, he relies on a potent artifact stolen from his family, known as Hidden Whispers. This magic tool requires a personal touch for activation: Nightowl must plunge it into the earth and spill his own blood upon it. Once the ritual is complete, he can manipulate the spell, ensuring that Slave City remains hidden from those who might threaten its dark operations.

Rahab lounged in a lavish room, the kind where Nightowl entertained his most esteemed customers. The opulence around him did little to ease his impatience. As a fallen angel, he was an imposing figure: his black mohawk stood defiantly against the backdrop of the richly adorned chamber. He bore three piercings in each ear, with additional rings punctuating his lip and nose, each piece of jewelry reflecting his rebellious nature. His striking red eyes scanned the room, flaring with irritation.

Rahab's bare chest was adorned with tattoos, most notably one of a woman who resembled Armaros. Two large dark red wings, a mark of his fallen status, loomed behind him, giving him an even more formidable presence. He wore only shorts and high-top black gothic boots, chains hanging from his neck and rings on his fingers, completing the image of a warrior unbound by the constraints of society.

The door swung open, and Nightowl strode in, his trademark grin plastered across his face. "Welcome, Rahab."

Without a moment's hesitation, Rahab's impatience erupted. He snatched an orange from the nearby table and hurled it at Nightowl.

With a playful glint in his eye, Nightowl could have easily dodged, but he chose to let the fruit hit him, not wanting to further provoke the envoy.

Splat! The orange burst against Nightowl's forehead, juice dripping down his face.

"That's for keeping me waiting," Rahab snapped, his tone sharp. "Have you loaded the goods?"

"Of course," Nightowl replied, brushing the orange remnants from his skin with a nonchalant air. "It's being done as we speak: 500 goblins, 400 orcs, 1,020 beastmen, 311 humans, 99 elves, 183 giants, 300 half-giants, 600 nagas, 701 succubi, 300 incubi, and 1,023 dwarves."

Rahab's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impressive. I didn't think you could subdue so many creatures. I'm beginning to understand why my lord tolerates your... eccentricities."

Nightowl chuckled, leaning back against the table with a smug grin. "Thank you. That praise from one of the Cataclysms means a great deal. I've roamed this forest and captured most of its inhabitants—some through sheer force, others through cunning deception. It's all in a day's work, really."

"Well, whatever," Rahab said dismissively, his tone revealing his impatience. He was not one for idle conversation. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a space ring and tossed it toward Nightowl, who caught it with ease.

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"Inside is the dragon heart and 10,000 gold coins for good measure," Rahab declared. "With this, our business is concluded."

Nightowl flashed a grin, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to stay a bit longer? The Visitor District has plenty of luxuries to offer. Even though you've bought all the slaves, they can start serving you right now. They say a night with a succubus is unforgettable."

Rahab's red eyes narrowed dangerously as he shot Nightowl an angry glare. "Don't be foolish. I may have fallen, but I will not partake in the impurities of the flesh. Do not tempt me; the next time you do, I will not offer a warning." With a flick of his dark, cold wings, Rahab turned and strode out of the room, fury radiating from him.

As the door closed behind Rahab, Nightowl couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "A fallen angel still clinging to the laws of the heavens—what a curious thing. He's already fallen; what's the point of holding on? Such a strange fellow.

Astra, Alonso, and Abigail floated over the Vassal Suppliers' headquarters, the air crackling with tension. Astra broke the silence, her gaze sharp. "Master, can you perceive that distortion? It's a camouflage spell."

Abigail's eyes glinted with an unusual light. "Oh, you can see it too?"

Alonso turned to her, noticing her irises had transformed into a vibrant green. "What's the significance of your eyes?" he inquired.

Abigail smiled, pride evident in her tone. "It's part of my blessing. I was blessed by the goddess Libra, granting me the ability to fully control fire. As you know, fire burns through everything—even this illusion. It can't fool my me."

Alonso felt a surge of surprise at the mention of Libra, prompting him to question whether meeting Abigail was mere coincidence or destiny. He activated the contact lenses embedded in his eyes, unlocking the hidden reality of the Vassal Suppliers' HQ.

"It appears they are preparing to transfer the slaves onto a ship," Alonso noted, his voice measured yet laced with an underlying concern. "I have identified Maria. She's imprisoned within a cage, along with other elves, being loaded onto a wagon."

"Hold on," Abigail interrupted, her eyes glowing as her Burning Perception activated. "That figure with the wings... He's a fallen angel. I can sense it. His mana is concealed, but the dark wings are undeniable."

Alonso's brows knitted together in contemplation, a realization dawning on him. Could this be the fallen angel Libra alluded to? The thought gnawed at him. Is he the one after me?

Abigail's expression grew more serious as she spoke, her voice steady. "Fallen angels are exceptionally rare. the weakest among them are A rank..... What is one doing here? ... This is no ordinary occurrence. It's so unusual for them to appear in a place like this."

Astra's voice chimed in, clear and precise. "Indeed, my analysis confirms that he's acquiring all the slaves. The likelihood of avoiding him in this confrontation is approximately 0.2 percent."

"I see..." Alonso murmured, his sharp eyes scanning the area. "There... that figure, unmistakably a vampire. Nightowl. And... what? He's slaughtering his own men!"

Abigail crossed her arms, her voice filled with disdain. "That scum... killing his subordinates---- there's no honor among thieves, is there? I can't say I pity them—anyone who aligns with someone like Nightowl should expect this."

Alonso's gaze hardened, his resolve deepening. "We need to act now. I'm going in to rescue Maria."

Before he could make his move, Abigail firmly raised a hand, stopping him. "Alonso, this fallen angel... I've got a bad feeling about him. Let me take care of him. You focus on Nightowl."

Alonso paused, torn between his desire to save Maria and the potential danger ahead. Confronting the fallen angel himself might be reckless, even for him.

Abigail's voice softened slightly but retained its confidence. "Don't forget what Nightowl did to Maria. Look at her condition now. I'll ensure she's safe. Trust me—I'll handle the fallen angel, and you can settle things with Nightowl."

Alonso exhaled slowly, knowing that Abigail was right. "Very well. Astra, accompany her. Ensure Maria's rescue. I'll deal with Nightowl myself."