CHAPTER 149: [148] EVERY CHILD IS A WORLD HERITAGE (2)

Ren took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing—making peace with the fire raging inside him. "So... you’re the owner of these slaves?"

The boar beastman puffed out his chest, clenching his clawed hand. "Yeah, that’s me," he replied, his voice wavering between pride and sarcasm. He glanced left and right, challenging the looks from the gathering market crowd. "But they’re not just for sale!"

Ren raised an eyebrow slightly, as if tuning in to the arrogance in his voice. "Then..." he continued softly but with weight, "how much for them?"

A mocking laugh rang out. "What? Are you seriously asking that?"

Ren didn’t move. His gaze remained steady, holding back the blaze. "I asked: how much for them?"

In that instant, confusion and anxiety flickered across the boar’s face. He scratched his chin, trying to stifle a scoffing laugh. "Ho-ho-ho... Can’t be done. They’re not your average goods! These ones were ordered by... the Champion, Lord Trek!" he said while glancing toward the grand structure at the heart of the city—the Colosseum. His tone was filled with pride, as if uttering the name of a god.

At the word "Champion," a vein throbbed on Ren’s temple, his blood boiling. In a flash, the distance between them vanished. Ren moved fast—his hand gripping the boar’s robe collar, yanking him close. Now they stood face to face, nearly forehead to forehead—one man’s aura pushing the breath from the other.

The atmosphere tensed. The noisy market instantly fell into silence. The air split between fury and intimidation. The boar beastman froze, silenced by the sudden pressure radiating from the cold-eyed young man.

Ren inhaled deeply, his voice barely above a whisper as it cut through the market’s unnatural stillness. "Did you just say—that man puts children into the arena?"

Seconds passed. The beastman’s breath quickened—one, two. Panic seeped into the way his claws clawed at the air. Finally, a shaky voice emerged. "They’re... they’re not ordinary children. You humans... don’t understand what their ancestors did. That’s why we do this."

Ren turned his eyes to the three small figures hunched over—kitsune children, nine-tailed foxes. Their eyes were empty, their bodies trembling inside the prison of their own minds. Ren’s voice faltered, then returned—lower, colder. "Kitsune? I don’t get it. You mean nine-tailed foxes?"

A vengeful shout rang through the market chaos. Eyes from every direction began turning, whispers spreading like desert heat. People slowed their steps, forming an unspoken circle, staring at the three kitsune children now standing hunched, their small bodies trembling, ears and tails drooped in despair. Glares filled with scorn and anger fell upon them—not for what they’d done, but for the blood in their veins.

Ren held his breath. He lowered his gaze, locking eyes with the smallest child—a pair of golden eyes too afraid to look back, filled with wounds and fear. He could feel the psychological weight that no child should ever bear. This wasn’t just discrimination. This was a desecration of life.

"A thousand lives? Rituals? Massacres?" Ren muttered. "That was the past—committed by people long dead. Why should their sins be borne by children?"

But the boar’s voice grew louder, filled with self-righteousness. "Blood doesn’t lie! Their ancestors sacrificed thousands to summon a nine-tailed demon, cursed this land! The arena is justice! They must pay for it! Children? NOBODY CARES ABOUT THAT!!"

The voice exploded. The market fell silent—then whispers returned, forming a wall of indifference. Some merchants nodded in agreement. A female beastkin whispered softly, "My ancestor burned in that ritual fire... it’s only fair..."

And in that rotting atmosphere, Ren saw—the three children took a step back, then another. Their shoulders trembled. They couldn’t look at anyone. They were imprisoned by guilt that didn’t belong to them.

Suddenly, the boar’s guard raised his axe—a wide arc aimed at Ren’s head. A lightning-fast strike, driven by deep-rooted hatred. But Ren reacted in a split second. He released the boar’s collar, twisted his body sideways, and blocked with his arm.

Clang! The axe struck a metal arm hidden beneath his cloak—mechanical armor from the remnants of Armor Mark II. Ren shifted, his body sliding low like water, sweeping the attacker’s legs.

The beastman’s body lifted off the ground and slammed into the stone pavement with a heavy thud. Gasps spread. Silence followed.

Ren stood up slowly, eyes locked on the slaver with a gaze sharp as forged steel. "You said no one cares? You’re dead wrong." His voice was low, but firm, resonating in the air. "If none of you will protect them... then I will."

His hand extended. He pulled a single gold gulden from his pocket and let it drop to the ground. Clink. A sound that sliced through the hot air.

"One for each child. Take it, and sell them to me. Or I’ll make you pay more than you can count."

The boar beastman swallowed hard. His hands trembled. The other guards began backing away slowly. Now, all eyes in the market were fixed on Ren—filled with fear and confusion. For the first time, someone was openly challenging one of Eks’ unwritten rules.

And the three Kitsune children... finally, slowly, lifted their heads. For the first time, they saw someone standing between them and a cruel world.

Their hands and necks were still bound—but the grip of Ren’s hand had already broken the chains.

"Why so shy? Come on, you’ve gotta be hungry. Let me treat you to something," Ren said as he gently urged them away. But the boar beastman shouted again, this time pleading.

"Hey, you can’t take those kids! It took me five years to get them—I’m really gonna die if they don’t reach Lord Trek!"

Ren didn’t seem to care. Now the guards raised their weapons toward him. Beneath his feet, the children trembled in fear.

"Lower your weapons. The children are still here," Ren said, his voice low, but sharp. His eyes scanned everything—the placement of feet, the grip on weapons, even their breathing rhythms—he read it all. But as usual, warnings meant nothing. Only ego and power spoke here.

Without a signal, one beastman with a horse’s head charged, broad sword raised high.

Ren twisted to the side, dodging in a split second. The blade struck the ground, kicking up dust. As the horseman tried to pull the sword free, Ren was already dropping low, pivoting, and striking the man’s knee with his heel—crack! A sharp snap rang out. The beastman screamed, collapsing in a heap.

The others followed.

Two from the right—one wielding an axe, the other twin daggers. Ren leapt back, his body light as a feather. The axe cut air, the daggers came in from the flank. Ren raised his left arm—the hidden mechanical guard beneath his thick coat blocked the first stab.

Clang!

With a smooth motion, he twisted his wrist, grabbing the attacker’s arm and spinning it in a classic judo technique—using the opponent’s own momentum.

SLAM!

The beastman’s large body crashed to the ground, his spine bending at a sharp, unnatural angle. His axe flew from his grip.

The dagger-wielder tried to retreat—too late. Ren was already behind him. His left elbow struck the back of the beastman’s head, dazing him. Before the body could fall, Ren grabbed his collar and drove his knee into the beastman’s stomach.

"How many more want to try?" he asked without turning.

The boar beastman took one step back. Then another. Sweat rolled down his fat temples. The remaining guards didn’t move. They’d seen enough—their beastmen fell like rag dolls in the hands of this lean human.

Ren exhaled slowly, his shoulders rising and falling.

He looked around. The market had fallen silent again. The people who had been watching now stepped aside. Some even lowered their heads to avoid his gaze.

Ren turned back, bending down toward the three Kitsune children. "Let’s go."

A small hand reached out, clutching the edge of his coat. One of them was still trembling—but no longer crying. They rose, one by one.

The boar beastman could only grit his teeth.

Ren looked back once more.

"You’re still breathing because I still have mercy. But remember this... If you ever lay a hand on children again—I’ll show you what hell really means."

Ren left the market under a heavy silence. Each step echoed as if carving its mark into the stone path. No applause. No praise. Only stares—fear, hatred, awe—all tangled together in the crowd.

But from one of the narrow alleys, hidden behind a leather tent and a stack of wooden crates, a pair of eyes watched his back with sharp focus. Those eyes held no fear, no anger—only observation, as if measuring the shape of a new threat that had just appeared.

---

Meanwhile, not far from the main arena of the city of Eks, in a low building with a symbol of crossed bones carved into its wooden door, the stench of alcohol and sweat hung heavy in the air.

A beastwoman—a lioness by race, dressed in thin cloth and covered in bruises—walked through the corridor, carrying a large jug of black liquor toward a room at the far end. Ahead of her, an old iron door sat half-open, and from inside came the sounds of laughter and animalistic grunts.

As she pushed the door open, the stench hit like a punch. Herbal smoke rose thick in the air. On the floor and bunk beds lay the bodies of beastwomen from various races—dogs, cats, rabbits, even reptiles. Some were asleep. Some just stared at the ceiling, eyes blank.

At the center of the room, lounging lazily atop a pile of snow tiger fur cushions, sat a man.

The Champion.

Trek.