CHAPTER 150: [149]

A servant girl stood stiffly at the doorway, as if her body were nailed in place by the thick air hanging in the room. Before her, a king without a crown lounged, surrounded by helpless women, while the stench of cheap alcohol, herbal smoke, and body odor dominated the cramped space like poison creeping into the lungs.

Half-man, half-bison—Trek was a towering giant over two meters tall, his dark skin covered in old scars and faded tribal tattoos that circled his chest and shoulders. His dreadlocked hair hung loosely, trailing down his back like the roots of an ancient tree, while two massive curved horns jutted from his temples—marking him not just as a warrior, but as an unshakable symbol of power in the city of Eks.

One of his massive hands gripped the thigh of a reptilian beastwoman seated on his lap, feeding him grapes one by one. The other hand squeezed the backside of another woman at his left—drawing a faint moan from her, somewhere between pain and feigned pleasure.

"Aagh~"

"Heh, don’t give me that cheap act," Trek muttered in a voice rough and heavy, like gravel grinding under steel wheels. "You’re the one who crawled in here last night."

Trek grabbed the jug of liquor from the servant’s hands and drank straight from the mouth. The thick liquid poured down, dripping from his jaw to his bare chest, tracing dark lines over his stone-carved muscles. He let out a satisfied breath and leaned back against the stack of snow tiger pelts—now stained by every sin imaginable.

"So," he grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "what’s your reason for bothering me while I’m eating and relaxing?"

The beastwoman swallowed hard. Her voice barely surfaced through the thick tension. "Lord Trek... we... we’ve had a visitor. A human. He took... your ordered merchandise."

Trek turned slowly, as if he’d just heard a tired old joke. "A human?... You mean those weak little sticks whose bones snap in summer wind?"

"Yes... But he’s not just any human. He’s the one from yesterday... the one who took the Kitsune children. They were supposed to be prepared for next week’s offering."

Trek’s smile vanished instantly. He stood, not a single scrap of cloth covering his muscular frame. The girl barely reached his waist. The aura from his massive form was so heavy that the messenger couldn’t even lift her head—she only bowed lower, nodding in fear.

Trek sneered.

"Tch... Useless. Where’s that pig?"

Moments later, in a slightly larger but no less gloomy room, the slaver—Polaris—was already kneeling, trembling atop the cold stone floor. Trek now wore a rough leather vest laced at the sides, but the pressure he gave off was sharper than before.

"F-forgive me, Lord...!" Polaris wailed, bowing until his forehead touched the ground.

Trek grinned, but his eyes were cold.

"Polaris... How many years have we worked together? Ten? Twenty?"

"Twenty-four, my Lord!"

"You’ve always tried your best to satisfy my little requests, haven’t you?"

"Always, Lord, I’ve never failed—!"

"But this time, you failed."

"I... I can explain—"

"Ssshhh." Trek raised a hand, silencing the pig. "Don’t ruin my mood. I’m deciding... whether to break your legs first... or feed you to my babies for dinner."

He glanced at the servant girl beside him. "Darling... have my babies been eating well lately?"

Trek wasn’t referring to children or some helpless creature to pity. His babies

was the ironic nickname he gave to the arena monsters—feral beasts, starved and bred for one purpose: to kill for entertainment.

These creatures had no names. Only numbers. They had no childhood. Only iron cages, electric whips, and the stench of blood left behind by their predecessors. These were the "babies" raised by the city of Eks, and Trek was their father—in the most twisted, perverse way imaginable.

The female servant beside him bit her lower lip, hesitating for a moment before answering. "M-My Lord... your babies have only been fed standard rations lately. A mix of salted meat and dried blood."

Trek raised one thick eyebrow. The smile on his lips returned—but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of a predator catching the scent of fresh meat.

"Ooh? So they’re hungry?"

He turned toward Polaris, who was still prostrated on the floor like an overweight dog. His breathing came fast and shallow, fogged by the terror rapidly blooming in his chest.

"Good... because it just so happens we’ve got some premium pork right here," Trek said casually, his voice like a boulder groaning as it rolled through the dead of night.

Polaris’s face turned pale as chalk. He lifted his head slightly, lips trembling. "P-Please... My Lord, I can still fix this! Just give me time... two days! Only two days, I can bring the children back! I know which way they ran!"

Trek narrowed his eyes, then began walking toward him slowly. Each step landed like the pounding of a hammer driving fear straight into Polaris’s spine. When he stopped, his feet were inches from the boar’s face.

"You know, sometimes I admire your persistence," Trek said, leaning down. "But the problem’s not your spirit... the problem is failure. And in a place like this, one failure... can feed an entire monster barracks for a whole week."

Trek snapped his fingers toward the two guards standing by the door. "Take him to the lower warehouse. Bind his hands. Don’t kill him right away. Let the babies get to know him first. Touch. Sniff. Play."

The two burly guards nodded without a word and moved with the cold efficiency of men who had done this before. Polaris screamed, thrashed, his voice rising like a pig being slaughtered. But there was no mercy in that room. No forgiveness. Only the law of the jungle—and Trek sat firmly at the top of the chain.

"Ah... wait," Trek said suddenly, just before they dragged Polaris out of the room. "Cut off one of his fingers. Send it to my market. Let every merchant know... I’m very disappointed today."

---

On the other side of the city, far from the bustle of the marketplace and the chaos of the death arena, Ren let out a long sigh as he stirred the contents of a large pan over a small campfire. The aroma of meat broth and simple spices drifted gently into the cooling evening air. Around him, there was only the sound of wind whispering through dry trees and moss-covered ruins.

The place might once have been an old watchtower, but now it was nothing more than cracked walls and crumbling bricks. Far enough from the city, well hidden, and—most importantly—safe enough for the children to rest. Amid the ruins, Ren had set up his camouflage tent, erected a simple perimeter fence with homemade sensors, and parked his battle van beneath an old tree’s canopy.

The day before, he had tried to bring the three Kitsune children back to the inn where he’d spent the night. But the moment the innkeepers saw the little tails hanging beneath their cloaks, the mood shifted. Fast. Tense.

"Those kids?!" one of the inn staff exclaimed in fear. "Are you insane? Bringing them here? You want this place cursed?!"

Ren had tried to explain. But the looks of disgust and fear from the other guests made him sick. Even as one of the Kitsune children—the tiny one with golden eyes—clung to his sleeve in trembling silence, not a single person budged. In Eks, the Kitsune race wasn’t just hated. They were symbols of a dark past, of legends of destruction, of sins that even children were forced to bear.

That evening, Ren chose to leave. No argument. No anger. Just heavy steps along the dirt road northwest, toward the ruins still marked on his map.

And now, before the fire, he sat cross-legged with three small pairs of eyes watching him with curiosity. The children were still silent, still hadn’t spoken, but at least they no longer trembled.

"Alright," Ren said softly, blowing on his spoon. "Today we’re having chicken and sweet potato soup. Not fancy, but a hell of a lot better than... well, street dust or a horned beastman’s boot."

The eldest Kitsune child—who had two small tails peeking from beneath her worn cloak—lowered her head slightly, as if not wanting the faint smile on her face to be seen. But Ren noticed. He said nothing—just returned the smile, a bit warmer than usual.

"Hey..." Ren whispered, his voice nearly drowned by the crackling fire. "You don’t have to be afraid here. No one’s going to touch you. As long as I’m still standing... you’re safe."

He handed over the first bowl—a warm helping of soup with chunks of chicken and sweet potato—to the smallest Kitsune. The tiny hand accepted it hesitantly, as if afraid the food might vanish if touched too quickly. Ren followed with the second bowl, then the third.

Their eyes, once dull and empty, slowly began to reflect the firelight. The pain was still there. But now... there was a glimmer of trust.

Ren took a deep breath and sat back near the pot, stirring the remaining soup while glancing toward the tent where Alfred’s family was gathered. A small smile tugged at his lips as he saw their unusual posture—Alfred and Bella, a pair of massive tigers from the Penal Plains, now looked far smaller than usual, sitting side by side on a straw mat like two overweight house cats.

Not because they had actually shrunk. But because of the magical artifact collars they wore—compressing their size just enough to avoid drawing too much attention.

Their cubs, three tiger kits with soft fur and faint stripes, were clearly enjoying their newfound freedom. One was rolling on the cloth, another scratching at a log near the fire as if it were a toy. One of them even licked the tail of the eldest Kitsune child, causing both of them to jump in surprise—then giggle softly together.

Ren chuckled too. It was rare to witness two races bound by blood-stained history interact without suspicion... or hatred. He opened the supply box, pulled out some strips of dried fish and venison, and called out.

"Okay, your turn!" he said, tossing the food toward the tiger family.

The tiger cubs scampered over like hungry kittens, their eyes wide with excitement. They sniffed the food before devouring it without hesitation. Even Alfred—usually stoic and dignified—lifted his short tail slightly at the scent of fish. Bella just snorted with amusement and nudged her husband with her shoulder.